


Ruby & Sapphire

by Leona2016



Category: The Hobbit, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:43:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leona2016/pseuds/Leona2016
Summary: If you held the key to a certain dwarf King's heart...what would you do?Or:Story about a dwarven king falling in love with you against his better judgement but if it's really the only thing that will shut you up...*reluctant sigh of defeat*





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Bags filled with comfort food start to cut in your wrists as you rummage in your backpack for the key to your flat, as usual it ended up at the bottom where the useless items always seem to hang out just to make you lose the things you really do need in life. At first you’re too lazy to get your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to literally shed some light on the badly timed disappearance, but after you’ve taken out not one, not even two but three old lip balm sticks, a handful of sticky chocolate bar wrappers, a tissue that’s obviously been used but not properly disposed of, a leaking pen and the world’s tiniest teddy bear that really has no reason to be there you softie, you finally decide to be less of a stubborn idiot. The moment your hand reaches behind you to get your phone, though, you catch a glimpse of something metally that the buzzing and flickering streetlight overhead reflects off of.  
You bury your arm up to your elbow in the backpack, close your fingers around the solid object at the bottom once your fingertips bump into it and cautiously retrieve it while feeling irrationally relieved it didn’t bite you. In your palm now lies a key. Only it’s not your key. It was heavier. Bigger. Very geometric in its design and with squiggly lines and triangles carved into the metal. It was very familiar. As a fangirl you’d recognize it anywhere, it’d be embarrassing if you didn’t. The thing was though that you absolutely had no idea how it got there and you were pretty sure you didn’t get yourself an early birthday present and then forgot all about it. Which left but one option… 

Was this it?! The moment you had been waiting for?? Were you about to be transported to Middle Earth?? Were you destined to escape from the clutches of your boring life and instead become the one previously insignificant person that would turn into an amazing heroine and save those three dwarves not because you cared that much about seeing the rightful king on the throne of Erebor but because he and his nephews happened to be too hot to die so young, and more importantly two of them simply too single to get skewered like a pair of roasted pigs and your imagination instantly sets to work in cooking up very enticing images of just how grateful the king and his heir would be to you once you saved their sexy butts…

You sigh dreamily then look down from the starry sky, excitement flooding you as your eyes find the key still in your hand and you decide there and then to do the dumbest thing possible: you try out a key on a door you know is your door with a key you know is not your key to said door. And it fits. Of course it does.. Wait what? It fits? It actually fits..?! There is no time to have the craziness of what just happened sink in when you turn the large key with both of your hands and the door emits a deep and muffled click. You pull the key back out, drop it in your backpack and then you really can’t resist placing your hands on the door’s surface any longer and push like you’ve seen Thorin do countless of times. The jaw-dropping sight that meets your eyes makes you stumble forward like a drunk into the welcoming embrace of what you’re sure is the friggin’ Shire. Okay. So it’s not the Lonely Mountain which you sort of secretly hoped it would be ‘cause that would’ve saved you a whole lot of walking but still, you would know those rolling hills and little rivers anywhere even now night had fallen and a myriad of little lights peep out wistfully from round windows in the equally round hobbit holes that dot the idyllic landscape. 

You yank out your earphones to let in the sounds of crickets, far away laughter and snippets of lively conversations drifting towards you on the pleasantly warm night air. When you register the dull thud of the door closing behind you it is too late to do anything about it. You stare, disbelievingly but insanely happy all the same, at a large, green round door (painted a week ago you don’t doubt) with a shiny bronze handle and a rune glowing a sickly blue scratched at the bottom. Kneeling down to admire it like a more educated person would a Monet (including letting out a tiny gasp of pure joy), you notice the rope dangling way above you. Then you see the bell at the end of it. Drawn to it like a bee to honey you can’t resist the temptation, get to your feet again and pull with all that you’ve got. The moment a loud jingle resonates within your skull (you were standing a little too close and on tiptoes too) you actually hesitate between staying standing on the doorstep or running away and hide in the bushes so you can repeat the process to annoy the crap out of Bilbo. Before you can make up your admittedly childish and a tad evil mind you hear the patter of light (hairy?) feet and the door opens with a loud, protesting creak. 

Bilbo whimpers as he sees you. He actually whimpers. Then he grumbles something to himself but you catch the words ‘busybody’ and ‘pointy’ and you don’t need to be a genius to figure out where Mr. Baggins is suggesting a certain wizard can stick his hat. The hobbit plasters a very unconvincing smile on his face, mumbles a very disgruntled ‘at your service’ and swings the door wide to let you in. 

“Do come in, Miss.” He presses you bluntly and with obvious reluctance and when you’re about to open your mouth he holds up his hand in a tired, irritated kind of way, “Oh, don’t bother introducing yourself. The sooner this is over and all of you are on your way the better. You’ll find your companions further down the hall. I’m afraid they’ve already emptied the pantry, surprised they haven’t started eating the furniture yet, but perhaps they’re saving it for dessert, or breakfast! Ha!” The hobbit let out a weird and delusional sort of squeal before adding with undisguised suspicion and frustration, “For the past hours they’ve been talking non-stop. Plotting…” His nose wrinkles in heartfelt disgust at this.

“Something about a dragon, a treasure hoard and a certain map and key?” You guess smartly. Oh you were so going to enjoy this gift of foresight.

“Y- Yes.” Bilbo stammered, a little surprised, then added sourly, “All Gandalf’s idea, no doubt. Though he’s lost this key apparently and the dwarves are none too pleased about it.” He explains, making your gut churn in sudden guilt. Oh. So it really was the key. You clutch your backpack a little closer to yourself hoping the hobbit won’t notice. Luckily he is extremely vexed with the arrival of these unexpected visitors (which technically now includes you) that he doesn’t and he simply pinches the bridge of his nose as if to stop a headache from plaguing him too. 

“Just follow the noise..” Bilbo then vaguely waves in the direction he wants you to go and disappears in what you assume is the sitting room for an orangey glow of a fire comes from it and you catch a glimpse of a thick rug in front of it. You remain standing a little forlorn on the doormat catching the groan of an armchair as the hobbit sits down in it, the chink of a decanter and a wine glass making contact followed by a desperate sort of slurping sound and some more dark mutterings that involve a wizard and a whole range of pointy objects. 

When you hear the booming and boisterous voices of what had to be the thirteen dwarves you were dying to meet you spur yourself into action. You rather carelessly slam the door shut behind you and start down the tunnel-like hall that snakes its way further into the smial where you soon stumble upon the real eye-opener you’d been looking forward to. Gathered before you are your favorite dwarves in all of their rowdy, rugged, hairy glory… There in the far corner sit those lovely Durin brothers (a very fine pair of strapping lads indeed), and across from them Ori with his too cutsey fringe is nervously twiddling with his thumbs as he sits hemmed in between his older siblings, one sipping wine with a bored air, the other running a careful hand over his starfish hairstyle. And then there were Glóin, Oín, Bifur, Bombur and Bofur, seemingly eating and shouting at each other at the same time if the amount of crumbs in their beards and pieces of chicken and potato flying from their mouths and spraying across the table were anything to go by. Which left Dwalin doing his arms-across-chest-and-bristling-whiskers act while Balin seems to have just face-palmed himself as if he only just now remembered he had voluntarily allowed himself to be surrounded by the odd collection of the obviously not so bright crayons in the box. That leaves Thorin, looking all majestic and superior in his fur and leather getup and currently engaged in the noble sport of verbally beating to a pulp a certain gray robed wizard we all know. 

…Holy crap this was really happening!! 

For a moment you simply mentally jump for joy as you take in the scene before you but then all of the dwarves’ heated arguing stills instantly when they spot you and even Thorin and Gandalf (the latter obviously towering over the former though he seemed not in the least intimidated by that) pause their shouting match to snap their heads in your direction. You weren’t necessarily planning on a dramatic entrance but with the tense silence and the fact you’re still half hidden in the shadows it’s too tempting a chance to pass up and you clear your throat importantly.

“My friends, look no further for you have found your burglar..!” You state melodramatically, taking a step forward with your hands on your hips and only just repressing a gleeful ‘keeeee!’ as your audience gawk at you as if someone hit the pause button. Damn, and that even rhymed too! Awesome first impression: check!

You elbow passed an obviously stunned Thorin and worm your way to Balin, spreading your arms wide as if in greeting, broad smile splitting your face, “Ready for that contract when you are.”

Before the old dwarf can so much as blink Thorin’s growling voice bursts out, “This is the burglar you had in mind?” 

You slowly swivel around to face him, not liking the particular emphasis he put on that first word and even less the finger he’s jabbing in your direction almost poking your eye out too. Gandalf only manages a dumbfounded and incoherent stuttering, eyes flicking between you and the dwarven king, judging by the saggy lines in his face and the nervous twitching of a bushy brow you guess he’s been having a pretty lousy evening so far. 

“Suggesting the hobbit to join us was bad enough but by my beard she is most definitely not coming-” Thorin rages on but you cut him short, “She,” you repeat with the same acidity, “happens to be standing right next to you and has a name.” Oh. Crap. Do you? Well, you have, obviously, it’s just you’re not sure if it would fit your new life. Besides, using your own name would be so incredibly boring now that you actually had a chance to start over.. 

“And what would that be?” Thorin arches a brow at you, sounding not even close to caring.

Quick. You just had to think of one. A cool, yet elegant and beautiful name that would knock this grumpy dwarf right off his socks.

“Ehm.. I’m… I..” You desperately look around for inspiration, highly aware of all the eyes trained on you as you search all of their dumbstruck faces for ideas. 

“Yes..?” Thorin presses you, clearly growing impatient.

“My name is.. Um.. Arandiel..” you drawl as you make it up then instantly screw up your face and shake your head, “No, wait, that sounds lame, way too long, and…elvish.” You finish in a tone of disgust, nose wrinkling too as if you smelled something bad. You could swear Thorin’s mouth quirked at this for a split second but then his lips are back to being the taut line they were and he simply continues to glare at you. 

Shit. You were running out of time. Your mind is racing through every name that had a middle earth-y ring to it and yet not one sounds like the right one. Still thinking hard with a rising sense of panic not exactly helping your efforts, your eyes stray to a red and seducing sparkle and you stare mesmerized at a ring around Gloín’s stubby finger. 

“Ruby..” you realize you have said it out loud when the group of dwarves finally unfreeze from their initial shock (one you seemed to have skipped but then you were confident you would find the time for a nervous breakdown later) and start to whisper to each other. 

“Ruby?” Thorin repeats, not holding back on disdain, “You are named after a precious stone?”

Great. Looked like you were stuck with that one, it didn’t even remotely sound impressive, more like the professional name of a wrinkled and shriveled porn star that refused to retire. Awesome... Well done, Ruby. And then there was something about the tone in which Thorin had spoken that made it pretty clear he thought there was absolutely nothing precious (or red for that matter) about you to justify the name. 

“And you are a trained thief?” the dwarf king asked doubtfully, almost sneering even at the notion.

“Yes.” you lie confidently.

“And why would we hire you and not Mr. Baggins?”

Improvise, improvise, improvise..! You chant to yourself, once again racking your brain, begging it to help you out. As you clutch your backpack you feel a familiar shape at the bottom and know what you have to say to get to go on this quest, all the way to Erebor, and you weren’t going to settle for anything short of that.

“Well?” Thorin growled.

You straighten and square your shoulders a little taking a deep breath and praying the poker face you practiced in front of the mirror for reasons that don’t need to be disclosed here would survive the sparks shooting out of those insanely blue eyes- Wow. That color was just.. And that long, black hair, short beard and fiercely furrowed brows were just.. He was just.. The dwarf you showed every sign of drooling over cleared his throat in annoyance, boot tapping on the ground and rousing you rather cruelly from your epiphany. 

“Right.. Um. That’s easy actually.”

His brows went up even higher though his boot froze mid-tap.

“You will hire me because I happen to have the key that goes with that map.”

You point needlessly at the wad of parchment Thorin has clutched in a clenched fist and your statement is met with a complete and heavy silence. All the dwarves exchange looks ranging from outrage to confusion to downright despair, though no one looks as horrified as Thorin does. His eyes (those brilliant, crystalline, sapphire orbs, you muse dreamily…oh stop it!) widen and he simply stares at you in a way that ensures you he will bite. Game. Set. And…..match!

You triumphantly lean sideways, bum perching on the corner of the table as you lean over to Balin, arm slung cordially around his shoulders as you wink at him, “So... Where do I sign?”


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Special shout-out to Wolfrider14, EbonyLeijon, Likarian and the six wonderful guests that hit that kudo-button and to aryannaoakenshield for bookmarking this story: Thank you!! :D Hope you'll enjoy the next chapter~

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**

You’re too busy deciding whether you’ll go for an overly fancy twirly and curly signature or stick with a simple, sharp-angles and straight-lined one when Thorin’s stern voice keeps Balin from letting go of the quill in his hands when your fingers are already pulling on its feathers.

“Where is it now?”

“Where is what?”

Your playing dumb act makes Thorin cross his arms demonstratively over his chest, “The key you supposedly are in possession of.”

“I _am_. Well, I _was_.” You hastily adjust that statement, although you had absolutely no objection (really, none whatsoever) to the dwarf doing a full body search, you couldn’t afford to have him find it on you. It was your only ticket to go on this trip, after all.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Thorin bit out, not amused in the least by your enigmatic reply.

“That means, master dwarf,” he cringes at your wording and you’re sure next he will have fumes shooting from his flaring nostrils and flames spouting from his mouth, “that I had it but I’ve hidden it.”

“Where?” he demands.

“Somewhere safe. And I’m the only one that knows where it is.” Both true. You didn’t dare lie more than strictly necessary to the dwarven king who also happened to have been your all-time hero and personal obsession for quite a while now…okay, basically since the movies came out, you never fancied him this much when it was just the book version.

“Tell me.” Thorin commanded and the very attractive authority he oozes is very tempting but you really, _really_ , want to come along and that knowledge was the only leverage you had.

“Sorry, no can do. But I will give it to you, in due time. Promise!” You end cheerily, your tone a glaring mismatch with his look of fury.

Thorin half turns to address Gandalf, no doubt to cross reference your vague story, “Is this true? Did you give the key to this-” he catches your eye and stops himself short at your indignant frown, “Did you give my father’s key to Miss Ruby?”

“Well.. uh.. Now.. I-I..” the wizard stammers incoherently, prompting you to answer that question instead, “He didn’t, I stole it. Trained thief remember.” You give Gandalf a blatantly obvious and very visible ‘no one with a brain will buy this but I’ve got your back buddy!’ type of thumbs up.

“You successfully robbed a _wizard_?” Thorin asks in a tone of blunt disbelief but you latch on to the hint of respect and awe that you are sure are in there too… _Somewhere_.

“Yep!” you exclaim happily.

Thorin looks at Gandalf for confirmation, “ _She_ outwitted _you_?” and completely ignores your insulted ‘Hey!’.

“I wouldn’t quite put it like that.. But.. It’s true that I might not have always kept my eye on the key, and.. Well, at my age it’s not easy to keep track of everything that’s in your pocket.. Ahem..” the wizard mumbles before he succumbs to one of his conveniently timed coughing fits, simultaneously shrugging innocently and smiling awkwardly at Thorin with a strangely pained expression as if he was sitting on a pincushion. Or maybe he was just suffering from hemorrhoids.

“Believe me now?” you probe self-assuredly, really not wanting to dwell on Gandalf’s pitiable condition.

“No.” comes Thorin’s curt and immediate reply.

“Oh.”

When the awkward silence has stretched beyond at least five seconds you open your mouth to try again, “How about now-”

“Why did you not take the map also?”

_Hmmm_ … Looks _and_ brains. Damn, he really _was_ the complete package!

“Well?”

“Well…” you repeat and draw out the word to give yourself some thinking time before you start the explanation you have to make up on the spot, “Insurance. To make certain that Gan the Man here would be the one to pass it on to you and ensure his involvement in the quest seeing you’ll need all the help you can get. And I took the key likewise to book myself a spot on the trip in case you wouldn’t believe I can pull off what you’re about to hire me to do.”

The tall, proud, raven haired and fierce dwarf (was it too early to go all poetic seeing you only just met the guy or were you totally justified here..?) looked like your reasoning didn’t make a lot of sense to him but the fact you claimed to have successfully stolen something from a wizard who luckily was too senile too remember whether you truly did or not (you really had no clue how you ended up with that key after all) had made an impression that may just sway his decision in your favor. Then again you were pretty sure he was smart enough to recognize blackmail when he saw it regardless of how you had tried to wrap that fact up all nicely and snug with a pretty bow and lots of glitter on top. Thorin was silent for a moment pondering his next move, then he narrowed his eyes. Here it came. The final test. Pass it and you were in.

“What does it look like?”

_Pop_! There goes the cork, flying in a nice arch and bouncing right off the dwarf king’s sharp and sculpted nose. Time for bubbles people, you sooooo got this one!

You nudge Balin next to you, holding out your hand and wriggling your fingers impatiently for the quill in his hand that was still hovering over the contract that should’ve been Bilbo’s but would be yours. And soon too. You turn the parchment around and start scratching on it, not much later holding up your doodle proudly in front of Thorin’s moody face as if he was your kindergarten teacher. First his eyes remain fixed on yours in nothing short of exasperated mistrust then they flit down, widen instantly and shoot back to yours.

“On the dotted line will do, I presume?” you practically crow in your victory, then turn around the parchment, not bothering to read the small print (or any of it really) and write your new name with a lot of deliberate flourish and display. It ends up looking a little squiggly and amateurish but you’re proud of it all the same, after all, you’ve just signed the contract that officially starts your new life... _aaaah, this was crazy!_

Not wanting to be overcome by emotions (there’ll be plenty of time for that later) you offer the quill to his lofty Grumpiness, “Your turn.”

Thorin grudgingly snatches it out of your grasp and signs with annoyed, jerky movements and you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and stare at him jotting down his perfectly legendary name with those angry strokes. Your eyes are glued to it as the ink is being soaked up by the yellowed parchment even after he finishes and clears his throat meaningfully at your proximity. Reluctantly you take a step back and watch how Thorin shoves the contract towards Balin, throws you and the wizard a particularly dirty look and then stomps away in the direction of the cozy sitting room.

“Yes, perfect timing, Thorin! Who else is in the mood for some humming and acapella singing?” you suggest enthusiastically to the group of dwarves at large, “And I have some snacks to go with that too, it’ll be just like a pajama party but then with really small, chubby people with axes and beards..” you frown at yourself, not sure if that offended anyone but then opt quickly moving on as your best bet, “So…who wants food?? Follow me!”

The moment you lift up the plastic bags spilling with junk food for all to see it finally creates the excited buzz you had been waiting for. The dwarves troop eagerly after you through the long and winding hall and Bilbo snaps his head up as he startles awake with our invasion, apparently the brooding king had not made quite so much noise when entering unlike you and your raucous gang. The hobbit shoots to his feet, wobbles a little unsteadily and then teeters tipsily to what you assume is his bedroom, the door to which he shuts with a loud bang.

Everyone found a comfortable spot to lounge and soon pipes were lit, lame jokes were cracked, belly laughs were laughed and your distributed your snacks feeling like friggin’ Santa. The sight of the dwarves munching away happily on caramel popcorn, nachos and cupcakes brings a huge smile to your face. It also makes you feel triumphant for your peace offerings are working like a charm. _Well_ …. Barring my-little-thundercloud (obviously) who was leaning on his elbow against the mantelpiece, staring rather grave and sulkily into the crackling fire. 

But you paid him no further attention when the first catchy tune filled the room after Bofur took out his fiddle. Other dwarves joined him with musical instruments of their own and you unashamedly clap along with happy ditties, upbeat melodies and sappy ballads and only freeze in your movements when it suddenly grows quiet and _he_ starts humming. The powerful tremor of Thorin’s deep, baritone voice as he sings makes it hard for you to contain a scream of  sheer rapture that’s tingling on your lips. As you listen to the tear-jerking lyrics and picture misty mountains, burning lanterns and long forgotten gold your eyelids grow heavier by the minute and next thing you know you drift off to sleep.

***

Someone yanking on your sleeve makes you wake up hours later from your dreamless doze to a sunlit sitting room with a loud and angry “I’m not a dwarf!!!” that bursts out of your lungs as if they had been waiting for your brain to voice that unhappy (and belated) conclusion. Your sudden revival that could’ve equaled if not paled any self-respecting zombie causes Ori to squeak like a little mouse and scurry away, not thinking twice about abandoning his attempt to wake you for breakfast the enticing smell of which only now reaches your nose.  

There is a series of coughs that make you turn your attention to the smoke-rings enveloped wizard sitting in a flowery armchair in the corner nibbling on his pipe and something that could only be hope slyly enters your head. Maybe you could still fix the fact that you crossed over to Middle Earth in your own far from athletic, wholly unspectacular and extraordinarily ordinary body, not even wearing your best clothes either but a pair of worn jeans, old sneakers with frayed shoelaces  and a black hoody.

“Gandalf! May I just say how lovely you look this fine morning?” you start your ass-kissing, jumping to your feet and marching over to his little tucked away corner with the most radiant smile you can handle without actually breaking your jaw. He greets you with a sour look on his wrinkled face and a disinterested puff of smoke but you’re not discouraged in the least.

“How are those magic juices, still flowing okay? Must be closer to a trickle at your age, am I right? Listen,” you lean closer assuming a serious and conspiratorial air as you drop all humor from your tone, also completely missing the dangerous twitch of Gandalf’s bushy brows as your insults sink in, “if you need some practice, I’m more than happy to volunteer. I bet that staff is getting rusty so how about you transform me into, say, a tough-looking, ass-kicking, wildly attractive dwarrowdam and with your reputation restored and my life span tripled it’s nothing short of win-win. Whadda ya say??” 

The wizard rises to his feet looking highly affronted and a tad murderous as he exhales a cloud of smoke down at you and storms off. That would be a no then. _Damn_ , _damn_ , _damn_ …!

“Mind the head!” you call after him despite the fact you’re deeply disappointed but not really surprised he won’t help you. There is a loud thud and a groan of genuine pain when Gandalf bumps right into the low hanging beam.

“I did tell you.” you remark dryly, earning you a death glare before the wizard curses under his breath and disappears. Great. You were stuck looking like.. Well, like _you_.

“I should have thought burglars needed sustenance just as much as the rest of us..” a booming sort of voice states challengingly and you swivel around to find Thorin leaning casually against the doorframe that divides the sitting room from the kitchen. It takes you a moment to translate that fancy word in the middle of his sentence but then understanding finally dawns on you. Right, he was semi-ordering you to get your ass in gear and get breakfast before you would leave on an empty stomach. _Hmm_. That was sort of nice- Wait a minute… You pick up the covert flick of his eyes to your backpack still lying on the sofa you fell asleep on before they avert back to you. That sneaky dwarf had very cleverly tried to separate you from it for closer inspection as you were bound to leave it in your hunger driven rush. _Huh_. _Pretty ballsy_ … _but oh so futile_.

You let out the most indignant sounding ‘hmpf!’ you’ve ever managed to produce, pointedly go back for your backpack, sling it around your shoulder and swing it behind you the moment you pass him so it hits him full in the stomach and Thorin doubles over with a grunt that’s like music to your ears at the moment. Struck by a sudden idea you stop mid-step though and take a few back so you stand next to him again on the threshold.

He straightens, arm clutched around his middle and practically jumping to a more battle-ready pose when you lift your hand, hold it horizontally and flat above your temple as if you’re about to salute at him and then let it trace an invisible line to a spot inches away from his scalp. _Hmm_. _Whadda you know_.. You were actually roughly the same height. So either you did turn into a dwarf but didn’t notice it or you’d been even smaller all this time than you had thought (and others had reminded you on countless occasions) you, in fact, were. Either way. Possibilities. Definitely possibilities. No risks of a back/neck hernia should you ever feel inclined to kiss the dwarf in front of you. Ahem… _Why was that the example you thought of_? _More importantly, why was that the_ only _advantage you could come up with at the prospect of blending in with other members of the quest height-wise_?   

_Anyhow_ …..

You had better things to do right now (eat, pee, pack, pee, get yourself the cutest pony, pee, and then leave. Maybe run back to pee one more time. In that order.), so you head straight for the chaos that is breakfast with a shrug: there’s no point in losing yourself so soon in those two, bluest of all blue puddles staring seethingly back at you.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'd like to thank ThoraOakenshield, watergoddesskasey, Freija84, Onetoomanyknives and the 4 guests who gave this story kudos! :D And special thanks to Freija84 for bookmarking as well as leaving me comment last chapter (I’m thrilled you’re excited about this story, hope you’ll enjoy this new chapter too! :D) and to nons for commenting as well, thank you!! 333

 

**Chapter 3**

You did _not_ get to ride the cutest pony. The dwarves duped you into selecting the oldest, smelliest and slowest of the pack…uh…troop… _herd_? Your displeasure had been a source for great amusement as a result. To make matters worse, apart from being even more stubborn than the dwarves themselves (learned from the best!), the dratted animal tried to head-butt you every chance it got and when it wasn’t busy doing that (for a change) it would sneak up from behind after camp was set up and chew on your hair. To top it all off he’d also habitually kick you awake none too softly with his front hoof because he fancied a midnight (read 4 a.m.) snack and he couldn’t reach those apples stuffed in the saddlebags but he knew you could. To be honest he made you feel like a damn house-elf when he did that, somehow you were always waiting on him hand and foot (should that be hoof and hoof?) and he had no respect whatsoever for your personal space either. But then each time you’d got ready to finally give him that stern talking to, one look into those droopy, large, chocolatey brown eyes and fluttering, long lashes and you’d forgive him for all his acts of  insubordination.

That wasn’t to say you weren’t thrilled to have a night of undisturbed sleep ahead of you the moment your little group of dwarves and the wizard entered Bree an hour ago. While Bob (no excuse there, coming up with names was clearly not your thing) was enjoying some nice R&R in the stables of the inn of the Prancing Pony you were looking forward to a decent meal, a warm room and soft bed. It had taken a little over or just under a week (the days on the road had been so similar it was hard to keep track) to reach the squalid excuse for a town but after all the hardships (read mud on your sneakers, a splinter in your pinky and no toilet paper) you’d had to suffer already in that short time you thought it was a wonder of architecture, the very pinnacle of civilization, and felt more than deserving of the steaming plate of stew set down before you. 

All the days had been pretty much interchangeable what with the fixed routine of riding then camping, followed by riding and camping and (prepare for a shock) _more_ riding and camping, and the transition from living in a world in which you were surrounded by all the convenience modern technology could offer to one deprived off all forms of luxury had hit your harder than you had anticipated. Still, you had successfully smuggled along a stash of 21 st century Earth candy with which you openly bribed the dwarves to befriend you and that tactic was paying off. Fíli and Kíli only took a handful of sticky toffees, Bofur turned out to be a sucker for lollipops and Bombur was a total peppermint addict by the time you got to Bree. And then there was Ori. Sweet, innocent little Ori. Had he wet his pants at the sight of you not too long ago, his fear had been no match for the almighty, strawberry flavored, chewing gum you had offered him. The young dwarf was in fact rapidly becoming a veritable champion in popping huge pink bubbles much to the chagrin of Dori though you suspected his unforeseen talent had awakened the rebellious streak in him and you loved the glint of pure joy in his beady eyes every time he came up to you for more.

You pause and hold your spoon full of hot stew mid-air, pursing your lips and blowing hard to cool it off so you wouldn’t burn your tongue anymore than you already had when Nori sits down opposite you. This didn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing seeing you still had to win him over and this might provide you with a chance to do just that (you hoped those left over crispy M&Ms would do the trick), but you also knew your fellow thief had likely come over with an agenda of his own. More than once you had seen him discussing something with Thorin, heads close together and acting all secretive, throwing furtive glances in your direction as well as at the backpack you were resolved to never let out of your sight. You didn’t doubt the two were scheming against you, conspiring even, and apparently they had finally managed to come up with a plan. ‘ _Only took them a week_..!’ you mentally huffed.

“Enjoying your stew?”

“I was.” you reply pointedly.

“I take it you normally don’t cook yerself?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why, there’d be no need, you being a master thief and all. I bet you could nick yourself a roast pig from Butterbur’s kitchen, spit and all without anyone noticin’.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. _Was he actually bragging on your behalf…or was he trying to lure you into a trap..?_

“Only, that’d not be much of a challenge, not for someone who’s snitched from a wizard. Now that’s not the work of an ordinary thief-”

“Get to the point, Nori.” you interrupt bluntly now there’s every chance you can kiss that stew goodbye ‘cause that sneaky bastard’s definitely planning something.

The dwarf shoves aside your plate and leans over the table to say in a lowered voice that he no doubt thinks will pass for confidential and forces you to try hard not to snicker at that, “Far be it from _me_ to doubt your talent, there’s _some_ who might be interested to see you prove yourself worthy of being our company burglar.”

“Thorin?”  

“Thorin.”

“Shocker. Go on.”

 “For starters, all you have to do is pinch summat from this inn and not get caught.”

And here we came to it at last. Phase one of the ‘for-all-that’s-sweet-and-holy-expose-this-crazy-girl-that-forced-herself-on-our-company’ plan. Strangely enough, Nori now casts a careful look sideways at the dwarf king who you’re sure has been scrutinizingly observing the two of you from the corner of his (dazzlingly blue!) eyes but is now momentarily distracted by the arrival of his own stew.

Nori leans in even closer, stubby finger emphatically accompanying his whispered words, “Now if I was you, I’d go for something shiny and small, easy enough to slid into your pocket and often looks expensive even when it ain’t and it’ll not be missed straight away either see.”

Advice from one thief to another. Sort of. _Was this too good to be true or was he really trying to help you out here?_

“But aren’t you dwarves all like super skilled at making shiny, small things? Won’t Thorin spot bad craftsmanship and cheap imitation junk the moment I give it to him?” you argue, having long come to the conclusion that the king in exile is the dwarf version of a shark on legs that can smell blood and deceit miles away. You’ve made clutching on to your backpack which may or may not hold a certain allegedly hidden far away key a habit for a reason. _You’re practically married to the damn thing these days for crying out loud_! And all because Thorin needs to be a mistrusting and cunning kill joy that possibly saw right through you from the get go.

“He won’t.” Nori reassures you with a nonchalant one-shoulder shrug.

“Because?”

“Because you’ll have to show it to me, a king can’t be directly involved in this kind of thing you see.”

“Ah..” This was starting to sound promising. You slurp the cooled off stew from your spoon as you ponder on the options available to you. Bad news: you’d miss dinner. Good news: Nori probably doesn’t consider you competition for his job like you kind of thought he might and as a result he was now genuinely trying to help you with something that sounded more doable by the minute and would potentially score you kudos with a certain grumpy king.

“What if I accept the challenge and I happen to steal something that’s not on par with the expensive and/or super duper awesome stuff I usually go for?” you probe, 99.9% sure he’s not falling for your fake boasting but you don’t care, you’re starting to trust this slippery and conniving dwarf.

“Things tend to look prettier in candlelight, it might trick me to think something a little more valuable than it is.” The cheeky wink he adds removes any remaining doubt and you reach out to shake the hand he offers you, “That’s settled then. You can find me in that shadowy corner over there after I’m done with my own round of… _inspection_.” He tells you with a mischievous grin and gets to his feet, “Good luck, lass.”

You nod at him, repressing a broad smile as you can practically feel Thorin’s piercing gaze on you from his seat at the distant head of the long table the company has requisitioned for the night. _You’re so going to enjoy proving him wrong_! Pretending to be daunted by the task ahead you rise from your rickety chair, lick the spoon still in your hands clean in one go and slid it into your pocket to free your hands, from now on to be referred to as ‘stealing tools’.

You make your way secret agent style across the inn which is filled with lively chatter and absolutely packed with badly dressed people who’ve never heard of dentists and collectively failed to look up ‘personal hygiene’ in a dictionary. This includes sidling against grubby walls, zigzagging through the crowd like a jedi, and hiding behind broad-shouldered ‘unsavory types’ until the stench that hung about them made your eyes tear and you were forced to dart away behind someone or something else, ever onwards in pursuit of steal-able objects.

Ten minutes of this got you absolutely nothing if you didn’t count the several injuries you’d sustained which were (apart from being embarrassing and painful) nothing compared to the accompanying traumas. You had been pricked in the butt with a fork (that Staddle hobbit character hadn’t taken well to you ripping off a nice, bronze button from his waistcoat), pinched in the fleshiest part of your arm (needless to say the waitress you’d snuck a pretty little hairpin in her hair from was not amused when said hair then proceeded to collapse and resemble a neglected birds' nest), and last but not least pulled on your ear by none other than Mr. Butterbur himself when you’d been futzing with a fancy enough looking doorknob that turned out to be attached to the door leading to a cramped, dirty loo he hadn’t sought refuge in to clean.

As a result you were now banned to the naughty corner behind the bar with the landlord throwing you peeved off looks that promised an evening of scrubbing and doing the dishes as soon as he got a moment to spare from serving his customers. You sat with your back against a beer barrel, knees pulled up to your chest as you swayed a little from side to side in an attempt to repress (never mind processing) the horrible things that had happened to you. Frustration steadily builds with every passing minute that removes your further from turning this epic fail into a success story. Then you sit up a little straighter, the vine-like hold of your arms on yourself loosening a bit, and strain your ears for a repetition of that nearby meowing.

The moment you spot the black cat with yellow car lights for eyes parades over the bar a predatory smirk creeps its way onto your face. The dainty creature jumps deftly down to your level, strolling closer while purring and flicking its tail left and right in curiosity. _Perfect_ … _Muhahaha_ …!

It only takes you a split second to launch yourself forward and tackle the cat to the ground like a pro wrestler. You ignore its hisses and screeches, too overjoyed with your long awaited and hard fought victory to realize not everyone is going to be deaf to it. You sit back on your knees, intending to gleefully observe your catch but the cat has other plans for you. It lets out a particularly nasty hiss, flexes his paws that have razor sharp claws shoot out faster than friggin’ Wolverine can pull it off which it then uses quite effectively to  scratch all over your face and neck. You yelp in pain then feel something warm and liquidy trickle down your cheek.. _Did this furry ball from hell just draw blood_?!

You were on the verge of letting out a battle cry when the cat’s owner turned up. It was that old hag with the mad cackle that must be a regular because she had been there during the meeting between Gandalf and Thorin too. And you knew this because you’d seen the opening scene to DOS more times than you cared to remember, besides it was hard to forget that ear grating laugh. Not that she was laughing now. Her face was distorted in rage with her greasy hair peeping out from a weird tea-towel kind of hat, her potato for a nose had turned as red as Rudolf’s and a large wart on her chin wobbled along with the angry steps she took towards you and her clearly harassed cat.  

Releasing your grip instantly the cat sprints off but not before bitch slapping you in the face with its fluffy tail that has you sputter out hairs and frantically scraping your tongue clean. Then the reek of sherry hits you like a wall, reminding you not too subtly of the screaming wrath coming your way and you duck out from under the bar. You can hear more than one glass shatter above you when the cat lady’s aim is off (thanks to your timely disappearance…well, that and the fact that she was a habitual drinker that no longer could hit anything accurately) and she continues on her rampage by displacing tankards and goblets with fell swipe after fell swipe. This very soon escalates into a brawl with other customers who are now drenched in their own drinks and you crawl away to safety on all fours as fast as you can.

Full-fledged panic and a gripping fear for your life spurring you on, you make for a long table and scurry under it and out of sight of Smaug’s mother-in-law who just sucker punched Butterbur when he had come rushing out of the cellar to break up the fight. Relieved with your narrow escape you crawl further under the table, navigating around chewed on chicken bones, dust coated olives and puddles of spilled ale, and for some reason the row of heavy, metal plated boots and strangely familiar voices above you don’t raise any flags as you wobble along.

Then, as the commotion on the other side of the inn has finally subsided and your heart rate has resumed its normal not-hammering-as-mad pace, a bright glimmer catches your attention and you zoom in on that shiny and small thing you had been looking for all this time. _Eureka_! It’s a weird sort of clasp of what you realize with excitement might well turn out to be silver and is attached to the shoe laces of a pair of weather-beaten boots kinda like that smiley badge is on your backpack. Sort of. You approach your target stealthily and set to work.

You’ve almost pried it off when there’s a lull in the conversations going on above you that doesn’t get filled with more talk. There’s the scraping sound of chairs being pushed back and pair by pair the boots around you start moving away until it’s just you and your prize left that’s so close to being yours. Running out of time you make one desperate move and yank the clasp free. _Yes_! _You totally did it_! It’s then that you notice how, strangely enough, the boots in front of you remain exactly where they are and before you know it their owner crouches down and a brilliant pair of sapphire eyes stare directly into yours.

You try to think of an excuse, of whatever it is that you could’ve dropped that explains your being here but the only thing that well and truly drops is your jaw and you stupidly blink back at the dwarf king in all your glorious and obvious guilt.

Thorin simply holds out his hand, palm turned upwards and you grumpily comply with his unspoken request. You watch with toes curling in your sneakers and an unhappy moan as he slowly closes his fingers around the clasp you had managed to steal for the dazzling duration of two seconds but then he does something so unexpected you stiffen and your eyes instinctively widen in shock.

His index finger unclenches from his fist and he places it lightly under your chin, calloused skin brushing yours, saying in a rumbling voice, “I suggest you close that big mouth of yours unless you like flies for dessert..”

Thorin then snaps your jaw shut with surprisingly gentle force, his mouth quirking with unmistakable,  savage pleasure. He unbends his knees and starts walking away, teasingly thumb-flipping the clasp in his hand high into the air and catching it again as he goes.

You have no idea how long it takes you to revive but when you’re of a mind to (belatedly) set chase so you can give that haughty, arrogant fool a piece of your mind you forget you’re currently under a table. As you hurriedly scramble to get up your head inevitably collides hard with wood you swear is made of sterner stuff than your skull. Your loud ‘ouch’ is in fact a censored version of the string of curses that pass your lips and it’s not until the world stops spinning and you’ve blinked away stars blurring your vision that you crawl out form under the table and groggily get to your feet.    

Deflated you make your way to that shadowy corner where Nori is loyally waiting for you like he said he would. Well…this was just fan- _fucking-_ tastic! After all the trouble you went through. After all that effort to jump the damn hoop dangled in front of you if only so it would make Thorin a little less snappy. Seriously it’d been only a week and the king had done nothing but give you the cold shoulder, bark orders, downright pretend you didn’t exist (his favorite treatment of you by far though Gandalf was a true natural at this), or peppered you with snarky comments. And now you’d handed him an early birthday present on a silver platter and he would go to bed with dreams of ice creams, rainbows and unicorns while your days as a part of this company might well be numbered..

 “Well…?” Nori’s expectant question slowly prods through your gloomy vibe.

You sag even further in the termite infested and worn armchair across from him, wanting to disappear in its uncomfortable embrace.  

“Whatcha got for me?” the thief asks, only now emerging from the shadows that experience has taught him how to make use of. You lift your eyes just in time to see him storing something sparkly and glittery in an inside, bulging pocket of his tunic and it fills you with envy when you compare it to your success rate of the evening.

“You’re not thinking of keeping it all to yourself now, are ye?” Nori grins, prompting you to bite out tersely and in a burning shame you don’t even know where exactly it originates from, “I’ve got nothing, okay.”

After this you pout in frustration and cross your arms protectively across your chest.

“Nothing you say? Then what is that in your pocket?”

You frown at Nori’s cryptic words then notice the out of place weight and long, curved shape hidden in it. _The spoon_!

You take it out and stare disbelievingly at it. _Wow_.. You really were a natural at this stealing thing. This could be the start of a brilliant career..! That thought alone has you proudly twirl it inexpertly in your fingers, showing it off to Nori like a lion cub would bring its first dead rat to his mom.

“Now that is a very fine looking utensil, rare piece of remarkable craftsmanship. I know a certain king will be most impressed by your trophy. In fact, I feel I need to give you something in return for your excellent performance. How’s this for a trade..?” Nori tells you, hand disappearing in one of the many folds of his tunic only to emerge seconds later with a large, geometrically shaped key engraved with runes.

For the second time that evening your jaw drops and you’re sure that if you keep this up you’re going to irreparably strain the muscles in it. “Aaaaaah…!” you wail miserably as you realize what you’re looking at, hands grabbing your hair and a look of horror latching onto your face, you’re not sure if it’ll ever leave it again, “W-When?!! How??! _Why_?!- …Wait. Did you just suggest swapping it for my spoon??”

Unfazed by your panic attack Nori simply nods, beady eyes gleaming with mirth as he holds the key to his lips and moves it as if he’s locking your secret behind them. You beam at him in gratitude as he throws the key unceremoniously on the small side table afterwards with a loud _clunk_. He then holds out his empty hand, palm up, much like Thorin had done not too long ago and wriggles his fingers, indicating you were to hand him ‘his’ spoon in return. You more than happily oblige, snatching up the key that also happens to be your ticket to Erebor and tugging it the pocket of your baggy hoody.

You didn’t know how you had done it but this wonderful thief was on your side too. Update: _Six dwarves down, only seven more to go_!

“Wait, I’ve got something you’ll like,” feeling you need to properly reward the dwarf that’s just saved your pathetic ass you start rummaging in your backpack to get him those M&Ms but look up again at a crunching and smacking noise. Nori has what you were searching for in his hands and is popping those M&Ms like there’s no tomorrow before he bursts out laughing when he sees your stupefied look of surprise.

_Damn_. You still had a lot to learn but with a bit of luck and Nori’s guidance you might just get there in the end…

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : shout out to shishiwastaken and all the guests for leaving kudos! :D Also huge thank you to nons for your comment on ch 3, totally made my day! And yes, no shortage of sass haha ;p Hope y'all enjoy this chapter too! 333

**Chapter 4**

Steam curls up from the water’s surface and you let out a long sigh of contentment as you lazily lean back in the tub and follow the vapory wisps with your eyes until they dissolve near the wooden beams making up the ceiling. Every sore muscle in your body relaxes and you’re relieved to have rubbed off the dirt and grime that had started to cake on your skin after that week traveling on the road. You knew that eventually you’d have to get used to the new, dirty you and to washing up in creeks, streams and little rivers, but right now you were just happy and warm and comfortable watching a bar of soap bob like a tiny, toy sail ship on the small waves you make with your hands.

Still, the soothing embrace of the warm water had also brought out some long overdue tears, you were actually pleasantly surprised you had lasted this long without crying over the crazy curve-ball life had thrown you. You heaved with a series of partly stifled sobs while your nose got snottier and snottier and your eyes became red and a little swollen. In the end you knew you must look an absolute mess but you actually felt a whole lot better. By letting go of that pent up shock at arriving in a fictional world with no guarantee you could ever go back (not that you would, you’d made your mind up about that almost instantly) the finality of that crazy and unexpected transition became a little less upsetting and you felt ready to take on the world again.

Something else that improved your mood significantly was the fact that those sentimental fools had gallantly insisted you take a room of your own simply because you happened to be a woman (so kind of them to notice, you had blushed like a little girl) while they had to bunk up four dwarves to a room  excepting Thorin, he got the royal suite to himself…snooty snob! This arrangement was convenient in more than the obvious way (read: no damn snoring!) for after this night’s fiasco you’d realized you needed to find a better place to hide that key. You couldn’t risk Thorin snooping around in your backpack and finding it should he doubt Nori’s report on it. Fitting behavior for a king or not you just knew it in your bones that he wouldn’t shy away from  stooping to your level and do the dirty work himself if he had to. And that’s why even before taking a bath you had torn two strips from the bed-sheet which was so frayed and tattered you doubted anyone would notice and weaved it around each other to make a strong and semi-fashionable necklace. From it now dangled the key, just below that dent where your collarbones met and you were determined never to take it off until that fateful day still many months away.

It had felt a little weird to bathe with the key still around your neck, and you had stared a little mesmerized at the distorted underwater shape of it as it was too heavy to float upwards but you were much rather a little overly paranoid than have another dwarf besides Nori find out. You’d been extremely lucky the thief had taken a liking to you and agreed to not only keep his mouth shut but had also promised to teach you the noble arts of thievery himself. The prospect of what Thorin believed to be his spy who would unmask your treachery to now be employed as your own personal coach was simply hilarious to you.

A smile curving your lips at the happy thought you got out of the tub and sauntered to the thick rug in front of a blazing hearth, reveling in the warmth of the flames that would dry you better than any towel would and faster too by the feel of it. You’d only just turned your front towards the fire, key slung back to rest between your shoulder blades for you figured the metal would heat up too much and burn your skin, when your daydreaming prevented you from noticing the knocks on your door and it already creaked open before you could so much as blink.

You glanced over your shoulder to identify your visitor and froze simultaneously with Ori standing on the threshold, white, frilly looking nightgown clutched in both hands that he no doubt had meant to offer to you.

The young dwarf gulps as if he’s about to be sick (you hasten to calm yourself it’s not because you’re actually _that_ repulsive) and you’re not sure if his reaction is because of the key or seeing you stark naked but that combination is more than enough to make him go as red as a beet. Ori drops the nightgown, squeezes his eyes tight shut and stumbles backwards out of your room, fumbling with the door handle he reaches out for like a blind man before he finally grabs it and closes the door again with a loud _bang_.

_Damn it_. That was dwarf number two who knew you had the key on you and not in a far away, mysterious hiding place. As you make for the door to retrieve the night gown and pull it over your head you mull over what steps you need to take but then quickly come to the conclusion you might not have to take any. Ori was clearly too shell shocked to ever tell anyone about this and you very much doubted he would, especially since he would have to explain the context in which he saw you had the key. Something told you he would faint before he could utter your name and the words ‘naked’ and ‘key’ in one sentence face to face with the dwarven king. The only dwarf he might tell was his oldest sibling, Dori, but you were sure he would simply smack the young, bashful dwarf on the head and pretend he didn’t know for propriety’s sake alone. Confident that your reasoning was sound you felt relieved that your secret was still safe, but you really needed to be more careful from now on. Locking the door for one seemed like a good place to start.

***

Despite your rocky start as a master thief and both Ori and Nori (possibly Dori too) finding out about the key, you slept like a log that night, not waking up until Dwalin practically kicked in the door SWAT style. His hard knocks made the rusty hinges rattle and shake to such a degree that it woke you up just in time to assure him ‘the skinny coward’ had not in fact done a runner and would be joining the rest of the gang for breakfast in a minute. That breakfast you’d envisioned as an extravagant buffet turned out to be a pile of sandwiches and a pear all neatly wrapped up in a napkin, to be consumed on horse- _pony_ back while we trudged through muddy puddles and away from Bree following the Great East Road.

Because of the relentless rain beating down on us your food  soon turned all soggy and disgusting but you doubted you could trick Bob into eating it (he’d been in a foul mood ever since having to leave the inn’s cozy stables) and with your stomach growling louder every five minutes (several of the dwarves had eyed the darkened sky overhead worriedly as they mistook your hunger for rumbling thunder) you decided to gobble it down anyway instead of throwing it away like you’d seen Kíli do (spoiled little princess that he was). With courtesy of the ongoing downpour you were already half drenched by the time you managed to guilt trip Balin into giving you his spare travel cloak when he suddenly appeared next to you on his hazel brown mount.

You doubted it was really his though for it smelled strangely alluring for some reason you could not fathom and you kept sniffing it trying to remember who of the other dwarves it reminded you off but you weren’t going to make it a reason to demand a different one in this awful weather. Genuinely taking pity on you Balin also donated an expertly woven scarf to you which you gratefully stuffed under your hoody to make you warmer and curvier too in the process. Balin chuckled appreciatively at the joke you managed to make on this topic despite the thick drops trying to drown you as you spoke and you realized the dwarf riding alongside you can’t help being the kind, caring grandpa of the group, even to you. Bless him. And unless you were much mistaken that was seven down and only six to go. At this rate you should have them all wrapped around your little finger before reaching Rivendell. _Excellent_..

Setting up camp that evening made your good mood spike even more as you recognized the ledge overlooking pine forests and rocky hills. The fact that you looked like a drowned rat was all forgotten. What did it matter? This was it. Tonight everyone would go all emo as they listened to Balin recounting the battle of Azulnabuba.. Azulbabi.. Azilbunar… _Fuck you Khuzdul_. Recount the battle of _Moria_ and you were overjoyed at the fact that apparently everyone’s curiously selective amnesia made it necessary for Thorin to face off the horizon in a staring contest and turn around dramatically so his audience of admiring dwarves could swoon at his majestic figure and hurt scowl. Seriously, only Thorin could make PTSS a smoldering look to die for.

You sigh in happy anticipation and dart around camp to help out the other dwarves with their tasks (you have thus far managed to dodge getting assigned any fixed chores yourself: yaaay for your successful Oín imitation, maybe you should steal that ear trumpet to make your deaf act even more convincing), impatient as you are to get to tonight’s highlight. After dinner which you practically inhaled in your hurry, you squeeze in between Fíli and Kíli, wriggling your behind as you back up so they have to scoot apart to make room for you. And then you wait, shit eating grin on your face and staring unperturbed at Thorin. If he notices your eyes fixed on him like a hawk’s then A+ for the poker face because the dwarven king gives no sign that he is affected by it. Eventually he leans back against that huge ass boulder and you can see him lose the fight against his drowsiness ( _Aaaaw.._ Oi! Focus!) You sit up straighter. _Any minute now_ …

That’s when you remembered a tiny but very crucial detail: _Bilbo_!! The hobbit wasn’t here! Which in turn meant those two rascals on either side of you would just continue smoking their pipes and chatter away stupidly instead of saying those tactless things to frighten the living daylights out of the already spooked hobbit..

You feel a veritable depression coming on at this realization but then the solution comes to you with perfect timing. A shrill cry rents the night air and you know what to do. You wait for the admittedly bloodcurdling sound to rouse Thorin from his little beauty sleeping then clear your throat in preparation. The dwarf finally jerks wakes, pushing himself off against the rock. And….. _action_!

A perfectly convincing and authentic (*cough*liar!*cough*) scream passes your lips, making both Fíli and Kíli duck for cover, two pairs of hands instinctively shooting up to belatedly protect their ears against any damage. “What was that?” you ask with a ‘scared’ wobble pushing your voice up. Congratulating yourself on your Oscar worthy performance you wait expectantly for their banter to begin. You are not disappointed.

“Orcs.” Fíli answers, face serious, “Throat-cutters. There’ll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them.”

Kíli joins the double act (seriously how long do they rehearse for this shit?), expression equally earnest, “They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood..”

“Fantastic..” you muse absentmindedly, eyes trained on Thorin. _Any minute now_ … The brothers flanking you exchange a nonplussed and slightly disturbed look.

“Here, why don’t you try a bit of this.” Fíli offers you his pipe. Kíli nods fervently in agreement and guides it to your mouth, saying assuringly, “It’ll make you less on edge. Ease your nerves..”

You’re confused and don’t know what’s going on. _Why wasn’t Thorin barking at them yet_?? Frustrated and feeling you’ve been personally screwed over by the universe (what else could have the audacity to cheat you out of your much yearned for shot of Thorin pulling off the ultimate exiled dwarf king look?) you grind your teeth.

To make those two pesky goblins next to you stop force feeding you that pipe you inhale deeply only to swallow it all down in one go as you can swear Thorin is finally bored with gravely staring off in the distance and you can just feel he’s going to turn around to verbally bite off their heads instead of yours for a change.

Excitement flooding through you, replacing disappointment in the process, you reach for your phone. Up to now you’ve kept it in your backpack set to low power mode, figuring modern tech might potentially mess with the plot but right now you can’t care less about the consequences, this’ll be  the one million dollar shot you’re not gonna pass up for anything..!

Before your fingers can locate your phone you feel something else wreathing in your lungs that has nothing to do with your excitement. You start coughing. Not the polite kind of ‘ _hem_ , _hem_ ’ or the semi-cute soft scraping of the back of your throat. No, the kind of cough that make your eyes tear up and make you sound like an orangutan with a hangover while you pray someone will get the hint and do the Heimlich on you. And if you thought the coughing was bad…wait for the nausea to kick in a split second later..

You’re vaguely aware of only half restrained snickering from the princes and a deep, booming voice rolling through camp like thunder shutting them the hell up as you rush to the relative privacy of the bushes. A lot of stomach heaving, gagging and puking later you drag yourself back to camp that has grown suspiciously quiet. Both Fíli and Kíli are pacing restlessly at the edge of the circle of light cast from the fire, stepping up to you as you reemerge with whatever abysmally small amount is left of your dignity. Their genuinely concerned and guilt-ridden expressions make you forgive them on the spot but before they can say anything you raise a finger in warning and growl out, “Remind me not to feed you two to Smaug.”

Identical grins split their faces before they exchange a look with someone you can hear come up behind you and that has them hang their heads in shame and retreat to their bedrolls instantly.

You whisk around and find yourself face to face with none other than Thorin, impressive scowl as usual creasing his forehead, “What were you thinking of?!”

“Uhh..” you mumble back intelligently at the accusation that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever unless his period just started. In that case you won’t judge.

“You cannot just leave camp on your own and unprotected, it is not safe. From now on you will ask for one of us to accompany you.”

“Pffff..!” you huff out like a five year old, your not taking him seriously only riling Thorin more.

 “In case you have forgotten we have entered the Wild, there’s no knowing what enemies may be lurking about. You could’ve gotten yourself killed..!” Thorin sneers, nearing you to as close as an inch. 

 “Well, excuse me but I was a bit too busy being sick to get myself a bodyguard!” you bite back in your defense.

“Remember to do it next time.” he orders you gruffly, not intimidated by your rising temper.

“Sure. Next time I feel like this I’ll remember to aim for your lovely, royal self, it’s not like a bit of barf will stand out on that muddy coat, now will it?” not of a mind to wait for yet another retort you make to excuse yourself with an exaggerated, low bow but the moment you straighten your back a little too fast that horrible sense of vertigo creeps up on you again faster than Speedy Gonzales. You press a hand to your mouth, clasping your stomach too, but you know you’re on the verge of fulfilling that prophecy you just made right there and then. 

With a swiftness that must be due to the fact he’s a hardened and experienced warrior Thorin  sidesteps the contents of your stomach as you hurl it in his direction (might as well keep your word, right?). Feeling deeply disappointed you missed him you double over then sink to your knees, hating the retching sounds you’re producing and the taste of bile on your tongue as you spit it out. Next moment you can feel someone grabbing a hold of your hair to keep it out of your face and a hand rubbing your arched back soothingly.

Five minutes later you feel recovered enough to accept the cloth Bofur offers you and gratefully wipe your mouth clean with it, even more thankful for the fact it’s too dark to see just how dirty it is and praying inwardly it’s not similar to that piece he ripped off his own clothes and tossed to Bilbo for a hanky in the movies.

Fíli and Kíli then simultaneously hold out their water skins to you (did those blasted monkeys synchronize everything?!) so you end up taking a gulp from both if only to make the two of them look equally satisfied now they’ve made up for their earlier prank (little did they know you’d still skin those brothers alive once you felt a little less queasy, if it was gory horror stories they liked, you’d give them one…*cue Psycho violin screeches*).

_Ugh_.. What the hell had been in that tobacco? Whatever drugs these dwarves were on, it was not for you. Never, _never_ again..! 

You got to your feet with the help of Balin and whoever it was that had kept your hair in one hand and had rubbed your back with the other. Slowly turning around you see the three Ri brothers give you sympathetic looks and Bombur sends a compassionate smile your way. The rest of the dwarves were expressively and thoughtfully looking the other way to save you further embarrassment…well, either that or they didn’t give a damn.

_Wait_.. You freeze, brain finally starting to catch up to a mystery you really wanted solved. _Who_ had been holding your hair and rubbing your back? Your eyes stray through the camp, all dwarves accounted for but one. You can’t see the king anywhere. _Where did he get to_? Suspecting you know the answer to that question you tilt your head slowly to the side.

_Thorin_ …

The dwarf king is actually standing at your side, one hand now under your elbow supporting much of your weight, the other resting against the small of your back in the same attempt to keep you standing.

Wooh, wooh, wooh.. Hang on. Did _Thorin_ , of all dwarves, just turn into the perfect little _nurse_?  

Spotting your look of intrigue (possibly you were beaming at him with puppy dog eyes, you had just had the worst trip of your life so it’s not like you were in control of that atm) Thorin grunts out something inaudible, drops his hands from you (Balin and Bofur are just in time to lend you their much needed assistance) and marches away to moodily sag against the rock he had leant against before that Moria flashback that hadn’t happened.

Reminded of that epic fail you strangely enough don’t feel a resurgence of disappointment. No. On the contrary. Stealing a glance at the dwarf king and catching him do the same at you makes all of your bad mood and dizziness completely and blissfully ebb away…


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Digital hugs for everyone who gave this story kudos; appreciate it! 333 Also, special shout-out to Freija84, Adele and BlueLadyOfTheNorth (Juliana) for leaving a comment on the previous chapter, I love reading those, totally makes my day! :D OK..Not gonna lie, this chapter (especially the beginning) was fun to write..you'll see.. ;p  


To Freija84: _I’m glad you’re curious about Ruby’s role, I’ve got some interesting plans laid out for her to have an interesting influence on the quest…as well as on a certain member of the company ;) Thorin’s definitely not as indifferent to her as he likes to pretend to be, let’s hope that trend continues hihi_

To Adele: _no worries, thanks for commenting on the last chapter, it’s great to know I’m not the only one who gets giddy because of this story haha I guess everything pivots around the dynamics between Ruby and the dwarves, so I’m super pleased that you’re enjoying this so far :D_

To BlueLadyOfTheNorth (Juliana): _haha, thank you for a brilliant comment, totally made me snicker out loud ;p and don’t worry, not going to stop with this story, it’s way too fun to write! I’m also super happy that you were encouraged to post your work, I’ll be sure to check it out! 333 (and just out of curiosity, if Thorin’s your third favorite dwarf, which of the Durin brothers is number one and which one is second?? …is it even possible to make a choice between those two?? hihi)_

**Chapter 5**

You crouch down, careful not to make a sound as both knees dig into the sand before you lean forward and plant your elbows in it as well. Stretching out on your belly, you hold your phone ready in one hand, the other slowly pushing the leaves and branches down –the weight of it alone suffices– and the sight that comes into view as a result has you go into full peeper mode.

Unaware of your prying gaze Thorin sheds garment after garment as he stands tall and with a straight stance on the bank of a small river that actually runs pretty deep by the looks of it. Further down stream you can hear the racket some of the other dwarves are making while they wash but you tune it out and forget all about them the moment you catch your first glimpse of skin.

More than ever you were grateful for the facts that, one: Bofur was a lousy bodyguard and currently too happy with his apple flavored lollipop to bother following you when you left camp, and second: that the dwarf king had preferred bathing on his own this morning..

You shiver with anticipation, a warm feeling tingling below your navel as your eyes rove over a bare back chiseled to perfection and you giggle like a lovesick teenager at the broad shoulders and strong arms Thorin stretches when he pulls his tunic over his head. A teasing tremor tickles your spine and travels up and down it as his muscles flex with the movement and his hair falls down in sensuous waves after it's been released from the garment too. Then he kicks off his boots, unbuttons his baggy trousers and it slips easily over his hips to gather in a heap of folds and fabric at his feet.

Mesmerized you hold your breath as Thorin makes for the river, pebbles grinding with every determined step until he enters the water, wading through it until his lower half is entirely submerged in it. _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon_...you mumble, suddenly feverish, willing him to turn around and you can hardly believe your luck when he does.

The sides of your neck prickle like mad and your cheeks burn with the heat that surges through your veins as you watch how Thorin splashes ice cold water against his toned chest. The biting touch of the water, although visibly refreshing if the relaxed expression on his face is anything to go by, hardens the lines on his body and his muscles ripple as he repeats the process, again and again. He then gathers his hands, forming a fleshy bowl that he lowers until they disappear in the crystal clear water.

A gasp tumbles over your lips as he swiftly raises his now water-filled hands again, buries his face in them and then throws his head back in the same, smooth action. Water drips from the tips of his hair, running down in rivulets over hardened nipples all the way to his navel and you can't resist the temptation to watch one travel over the almost embossed-like row of abs. It trickles over the dents between those carved and accentuated muscles and then further down, to where his body ends and the water starts tantalizingly close to his hipbones, lapping against the ridges of those chiseled bones and taut skin.

You lift your gaze again, a fire pooling in the region just under your belly though his long dark hair which is wet and glistening as it cascades down, split by his shoulders and clinging to his upper body, does not cool you off in the least. You follow the black strands to where they stick against his temples and then you find those eyes that powerful blue which have now acquired the pure and enticing color of the river he bathed in.

Mentally slapping yourself in the face to come to your senses again and remember what you were here for you swipe your phone to life and look through instead of around it. _Oh boy_...voyeurism really was the best hobby to have when you were the only one with the means to take pictures. _Hehe_.. You punch in the code, tap the camera app, take aim and press hard on the dot your thumb impatiently hovers over. There's a weird, overly loud whirring-like click and you swear under your breath for forgetting to switch off sound. Before you can check whether Thorin heard the fake shutter sound or your cursing afterwards you can feel someone, well, _two_ someone _s_ breathing down your neck.

"Wooh... What even _is_ that??" Kíli exclaims in undisguised, child-like wonder, his breath brushing passed your ear in a way that makes you ticklish, you instinctively hunch forward and retract your neck as if you were a turtle.

"How can a painting of uncle so detailed fit inside of... _that_?" Fíli ponders out loud, pointing a tentative finger over your shoulder and at your phone.

"And so life-like.." the younger brother chimes in making his older sibling nod fervidly in agreement before adding in mischievous surprise, "Look! You can almost see his-"

You hurriedly fumble to press the small switch on the top rim of your phone and inwardly thank whatever deity was responsible for adding that sound effect to screen lock. That, combined with the screen suddenly going completely black, makes enough of an impression to awe Kíli into a timely silence.

"What are you doing here??!" you hiss through your teeth.

"Following you!" Fíli explains, having the nerve to sound indignant that you'd asked.

" _Why_??" you spit back, equally miffed.

"Uncle's orders." Kíli supplies dully.

Annoyed you narrow your eyes, "Again, _why_??"

This time it is Fíli who answers you, lowering his voice and giving it a bit of a growling edge, even going so far as to furrow his brows in a comical sort of scowl as he imitates Thorin, " _Making fun of one who is weaker is not the behavior I expect from the princes of the line of Durin! To repent you will latch onto her shadow at all times and make sure she is safe!_ "

_Huh_.. Well, that was semi-nice of the king, though something did gnaw at you after hearing that explanation, "What do you think he meant by 'weaker'?" you probe honestly and completely clueless. Kíli's snickering at his brother's convincing Thorin imitation dies off and the two exchange a silent look.

"So... Care to tell us what that thing is exactly?" Fíli then not so subtly changes the topic but you decide to let it slide now he's reminded you of your most recent epic fail. You had just exposed these kiddos to a device that would not be invented in this world for a long time, if ever, and you were freaking out at the thought that it'll mess up the plot for sure. _Then again_... Your presence alone must've already upset that balance anyway, you stole Bilbo's job after all and the hobbit was miles away sipping tea in his comfy armchair. _How much more could this little slip up really change things further down the line..._?

"Oh.. Um.. It's a portrait maker." you tell them, bending the truth just a little.

" _How_?" Kíli sounds as confused as Fíli looks.

"Like this." you wake your phone from its little powernap and demonstrate, bossily making the two dwarves position themselves so they fit in the frame with you before counting down, telling them to smile spontaneously as you force your lips into an unnaturally happy curve yourself and then hit the button under your finger.

"See? It's easy."

Both dwarves stare at the selfie you just took with them, expressions an interesting mix of shock and wild curiosity. _Oh, oh_...

They exchange a meaningful look for the second time in less than a minute and you already know what they're gonna ask you before they say in an overly excited chorus, "Can we try too??"

"Hell no."

"Are you absolutely sure about that, Miss Ruby?"

"Of course I am!"

"Hmm.. Well that _is_ a pity," Fíli starts ominously, "for if you don't let us try-"

"-we might just tell uncle about that interesting portrait you have of him." Kíli finishes the threat, their fine-tuned gluing half-sentences into one dethroning the Weasley twins as pathetic amateurs.

"I thought dwarves were too honorable and proud to do bribes?" you argue, knowing it's a futile attempt but wanting to stave off your inevitable defeat a moment longer.

"We were dishonorable enough to accept yours not too long ago.." Fíli counters smartly and Kíli digs in a pocket to retrieve a wrapper from one of those sticky toffees they sold you their souls for, lifting it up for you to see and rubbing it between his thumb and fingers to have the plastic rustling carry the same meaning as his brother's words.

You should be angry at them. You really should. But instead you felt proud and weirdly emotional. _How you taught your beautiful babies well_! _Why oh why did they have to grow up so fast_?!!

In order not to betray your inner feelings you make a show of sighing a resigned sigh, mumbling grumpily, "Fair enough."

You slap your phone in Fíli's outstretched hand, "Only this button mind you, and don't tell anyone about this, it's our little secret, okay?"

They nod in in perfect unison, the sparkle in their eyes so innocent it might tip the scale to devious any second.

"Right... Against my better judgement I'll go for a quick dip then-"

"With uncle?" Fíli queries cheekily while Kíli wriggles his brows suggestively.

"No, of course not _with_ Thorin-" it takes a split second to realize the opportunity this could be and you change gears mid-sentence, "Why? Do you think he'd be open to that?"

Your question is met by baboon type of guffawing, Fíli being the first to recover bursts out, "Uncle never allows any woman to see him naked. He'd sooner swim with an elf lad!"

Kíli lets out a hiccup sound as he stifles his snickers to add with tears of joy in his eyes, "The last dwarrowdam who tried still hasn't been found!"

"What?!" you can't help but exclaim in horror. If the proud, grouchy king had made someone disappear for seeing his sexy butt than you really didn't want to know what he'd do if he found out you took that picture.

"Don't worry. Old Bína left on her own accord, whatever my dear brother's overactive imagination might suggest. Her infamous habit of sneaking into the dwarrow's section of the hot baths simply caught up with her in the end." Fíli assured you when he spotted your concerned expression, whacking the back of Kíli's head to silence his loud snorts.

"Right..." you repeat your previous sentiment of unease, eyes flitting between the blonde and the brown haired dwarf, the first throwing you a pacifying and encouraging sort of look and the latter rubbing the back of his head and pouting.

"Just.. Just don't move from this spot. I'll be back in ten."

You wait for their synched nod, roll your eyes when they do and start on your way to your very first open air bath though it's not that prospect that fills you with trepidation.

Your suspicions are proved right the moment you return and those two sneaky weasels are nowhere to be seen. Your freeze the moment the unmistakably jubilant sounds of the dwarves reaches your ears. Sprinting back to camp you stumble upon all of them huddled together and striking ridiculous poses as Nori, standing on the trunk of a felled tree to gain the height to cram everyone into the shot, shouts a boisterous "Smile!" to everyone behind him.

Your outraged "What the..!!" coincides with that tacky fake shutter sound and the loud cheers this triggers from the dwarves who only now notice you and fall silent. Most of them simply blink stupidly in your direction, Nori slowly lowering his arm and the phone he holds in his hand and you spot Fíli and Kíli practically on the back of a struggling Thorin in a pro-wrestler type of chokehold to keep him from fleeing. When you see through his disgruntled look and pick up the flicker of amusement in the king's radiantly blue eyes the surprise you experience causes your anger to subside in an instant.

"What's up with the friggin' group selfie," you start reproachfully as you make your way towards all of them but then continue with a broad grin splitting your face, "that doesn't have _me_ in it too??!!"

There's a whirlwind of enthusiastic 'hurrahs' and comradely shoulder patting as you squeeze your way to those three Durin dwarves. You lean against the one in the middle, slinging one arm over Fíli's shoulders before sneaking bunny's ears on the king as everyone gets ready and Bofur cheerily starts the countdown.

3.. 2.. 1... _CHEESE_!!!

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Lots of love to the lovely guests and drgngrl68 and SamWinchesterIsAHero for hitting that kudo button and to Freija84 & Settingfiretotherain(adele) for commenting on chapter 5! 333

_Freija84_ : I know, right? Those Durin brothers make such an adorable and funny pair! ;p Thanks for the encouragement, your comments are super motivating!  

_Settingfiretotherain(adele)_ : I feel so honored that my story made that Monday morning less boring than they usually tend to be haha ;) And I can so relate to giggling out loud (on a train in my case ;) when I’m reading fanfics, never mind those funny looks! ;p Thanks for commenting, your enthusiasm put a huge grin on my face!

**Disclaimer** : I don't own the Hobbit, just saying, in case you thought I did...

* * *

 

**Chapter 6**

Perched on an obliging but not very comfortable rock at the gaping-mouth entrance of the cave, you flash Fíli and Kíli a broad grin in welcome when they’re the first to appear and wave them over.

“We almost got eaten by trolls!!” Fíli calls out to you as he and his brother hurry your way, sounding as if this had been as fun as watching baby pandas in the zoo.  

“One tried to snack on uncle as an appetizer!” Kíli chimes in.

“His own fault for looking too tasty..” you mumble wisely to yourself.

“ _What_?” Mr. ‘hot-cuisine’ himself grinds out as he comes up behind his nephews, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Nothing!” you assure him, all sweet innocence, “Just glad you didn’t end up dinner. Lunch. Well, _breakfast_ , technically.” you wave vaguely at the rising sun behind you, you’d been reveling in the sensation of its warm rays against your back for a while now, it almost made you regret the dwarves had finally caught up with you and you would have to move again soon.

“Hmm,” Thorin grumbles then decides it’s not worth wasting his time trying to call you out on your witty remark he must’ve heard perfectly fine the first time and instead growls in agreement, “Yes. As am I. That was a most… _unpleasant_ experience.”

“How did you manage to stall so Gandalf could save your asses?” you probe as one by one the other dwarves and the wizard join you in front of the cave. Just because you’d made yourself scarce the moment you’d spotted that dilapidated farm yesterday evening didn’t mean you weren’t dying to know how they had escaped. Admittedly, it might’ve been a bit of a risk to leave them completely ignorant of what awaited them but you’d had every faith in their abilities to come out victorious and in the end you’d more than readily convinced yourself that skipping the troll part of the plot didn’t mean you were a coward. Well, not _really_ , more like a girl possessing a healthy dose of self-preservation instinct. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. Very noble sentiment indeed.

“So, what did you do?” you press Thorin as he remains conspicuously silent.

“Uncle convinced the trolls he would make a better dessert.” Fíli explained and Kíli nudged you in the ribs, whispering loud enough so everyone could still hear him, “Told them whipped cream would go well with his flavor so they tried milking the ponies for hours!”

Catching Thorin’s glare Fíli hurried to end their story in a sobered tone, “That’s when Gandalf showed up and turned them to stone.”

“Whipped cream, you say? _Interesting_..” you muse, storing that useful information away for later, after all, you never knew when it could come in handy.

“And where were you all this time?” Thorin turns on the third degree after swallowing down what you suspected was embarrassment, “You were gone without a trace after dinner, though now it seems your disappearance was very well timed indeed..”

You almost forget to feel riled by that sneering accusation now you can swear something close to a worried glint had momentarily lit up those very fine blue eyes of his. By the time he reached the end of that terse sentence, however, it had already retreated to their depth and Thorin merely looked down at you over his nose as he raises himself up to his full height, arms crossed to indicate he was waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Call it luck.” you shrug away his insinuation, but his stance remains unchanged, telling you the interrogation isn’t over yet. “Just needed some me-time, you know, being the only woman in a group of rowdy dwarves isn’t exactly easy.”

The lines in his face instantly soften, it was subtle and you doubted you’d have picked it up if you hadn’t gotten better at reading his facial expressions since starting out on this quest, but now you knew what it meant. _This fish was off the hook, baby_! It cost you considerable will power not to grin in triumph when Thorin took in a deep, steadying breath and dipped his chin rather gallantly in understanding. _Oh, these silly, chivalrous dwarves, that ‘woman-card’ was too good not to play, hehe.._

Curiosity finally getting the better of them, some of the dwarves chose that moment to walk passed you and explore the cave, prompting you to call knowingly and probably sounding like you were enjoying yourself a little too much but, well, you _were_. “I wouldn’t if I were you..”

Like you had done upon your arrival the few dwarves having entered the troll hoard soon doubled over and gagged, faces distorted in disgust as the stench penetrated their nostrils. You were surprised their brows didn’t singe away at the whiff of unpleasantly offensive smell the three monsters had left behind in their repulsive ‘home’.

“ _Mahal_ …! What is that smell?!” Kíli remarked, pinching his nose close and making his voice sound all nasal and whining like he was the dwarf equivalent of Fran the nanny. He was one of the first that came crawling back out but he looked just as horrified as the others who followed him.

“You don’t wanna know, trust me.” you simply said, then got to your feet, lazily stretched and dusted off your clothes before bending down to pick what you had salvaged from the cave and hidden from view behind the rock you sat on.

“Catch!” was the only warning you gave Thorin as you casually toss him Orcrist, all cobwebby and dusty. “A souvenir to remind you of today’s trauma for the rest of your live.” You comment dryly in a tone as if you were promising him a lifelong supply of gummy bears.

“Friends?” you suggest as you turn to Gandalf and offer him the long, narrow shape of Glamdring. For a tense moment the wizard eyes you with unmasked distrust but then he mutters something curt and barely audible as he snatches the sword from your outstretched hand. _Yup, you’ll happily consider that a start_..

Satisfied you leave it up to the old geezer to convince Thorin not to throw away his present when he finds out it’s made by elves ( _ewwww_..!) and amble away from the cave, whistling a silly tune until finally the others are ready to leave too. Not that all of  you will get far. For one, Radagast suddenly crashes through the bushes with his rabbit-drawn sledge. And what a distraction he turns out to be. For once you’re not the craziest of the group and as such enjoy a welcome break from rolling eyes, annoyed sighs and exasperated headshakes.

Everyone eyes the odd pair conversing in hushed whispers with wary apprehension because for some reason you can’t grasp the dwarves are actually way too impressed by the ‘secret’ meeting the group’s vagabond and his friend Mr. Bird-Poo are having a stone’s throw away.

After Doctor Doolittle has spit out the stick insect you, however, grow rapidly bored with the wizards. You kneel down next to one of the fluffy rabbits and scratch behind its ear so that its hind leg hammers on the ground like one of Animal’s drum solos. _When all of this was over, you were so getting yourself one of these as a pet_!

Once an eerie howl rents the air the atmosphere changes immediately. Apart from putting everyone on edge and whisk around weapons at the ready, the attack of Wargs inevitably prompts Gandalf to correctly assume there’s a pack on our tail. Thorin is royally pissed off that Gandalf more or less accuses him of spreading the rumor of the quest far and wide as if he was a gossipy grandma with nothing better to do and you can see him only just keeping a rein on his bad temper on account of risking the wrath of not one but possibly two wizards.

You, on the other hand, are mightily pleased that no one has thought to question you on the topic of accidentally or intentionally spilling the beans on the quest to an orc or two even though your presence and the way you tricked them into hiring you could be considered slightly suspicious. Either the dwarves have started to trust you, or they think you’re simply too weird to be a liability. If only for the ego-boost it gives you, you go for the first option.

You risk all of this goodwill you may or may not have started to built when Ori states melodramatically that the ponies are nothing more than a bunch of apple-eating deserters and have fled.

“Bob! You filthy, four-hooved traitor!!” you shout in pretended anger and despairing surprise to no one in particular, raising a fist for dramatic effect, though your act’s not half as convincing as you thought it was for the majority of the dwarves flick you doubtful looks or raise a brow or two, clearing throats uncomfortably as they do. There isn’t time to dwell on that though what with the Warg pack hot on our heels.

Running for your life, though, is not as exciting or even terrifying in reality as you had expected it to be. Being horribly out of shape, technically you don’t think you were actually ever _in_ shape, you’re soon puffing and gasping for air and simply lack the energy to be scared or panicky. You almost trip over your own feet a couple of times and bump into other dwarves as a result that throw you dirty looks but drag you back on your feet anyway. Despite the fact that you try hard to keep up you lag behind in no time, forcing Fíli and Kíli to go back for you on several occasions and just in time pull you out of sight of our pursuers.

Eventually Thorin has had enough of your antics and lifts you up without so much as a by your leave, hanging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Oi! Watch the hand, would ya? Being chased by Wargs does _not_ give you a legitimate reason to cop a feel!” you complain and Thorin repositions his hold on you immediately, grumbling something about ingratitude as his hand shoots from your ass to the small of your back.

“The same holds true for yourself, Miss Ruby.” Thorin counters sassily.

“I object to that accusation. I simply need to balance myself.” you counter, not moving your hands away from his royal buttocks. It’s not like he’s got any handles back here to hold onto, plus he’s wearing so many layers this hardly counts as groping.  

You’re glad for the respite from swaying left to right as Thorin suddenly stops in his tracks and presses himself sideways against one of the large boulders scattered over the otherwise pretty open plains, waiting for the pack of Wargs and their orc riders to move passed.

It is then that you realize the key around your neck has slipped out of your hoody. Gravity, being the bitch that it is, obviously betrayed you. You want to reach out and quickly hide it again but you also need your hands to hold on to Thorin. Not that it matters. You were too late. The key dangles right in front of Fíli and Kíli’s eyes.

Not knowing what else to do you throw them a pleading look, begging them with it not to betray you and you know you’ve truly befriended them when it doesn’t take long for Fíli to nod solemnly and Kíli to reach out and tuck it back and out of sight. With his hand still half way down your hoody you curse the sturdy warrior’s bad timing when Dwalin pops up right next to us.

The trademark frown that you suspect is his face’s default setting deepens as he eyes the three of us darkly. He radiates disapproval so strongly he doesn’t even need to put it into words. The brown haired archer quickly retreats his hand as if he’d burned it and Fíli shrugs apologetically, mumbling something about raging hormones and a frightening lack of dwarf women but then the awkward moment is thankfully cut short when Thorin decides the coast is clear and we’re suddenly all moving again. Well, all except you ‘cause you hitched yourself a ride.

Feeling more than a little displeased that the dwarf king doesn’t carry you all the way to Rivendell you let out an inelegant _umphf_ as he puts you down just in front of the secret entrance nothing more than a dodgy crevice under a rugged rock jutting out of the land. You automatically yell when there’s a vicious snarl nearby. Swiveling around you find yourself face to face with a Warg that’s unlike the rest of its pack. Most notably because it’s absolutely _tiny_.

Your scream trails off as you take in the matted-furred wolf only just reaching up to your knees. It’s pawing the ground with its scruffy head looking up, funny ears each pointing in a different direction and beady eyes locking with yours. It was.. It was actually really _cute_.. _Forget about those rabbits, you wanted this one_!

“Can I keep it-” your request aimed at Thorin having rushed back to your side with sword drawn is drowned by a terrible wail and yelping, muddy blood sprays on your face, stains your clothes, you thought you could even discern some bits of brain here and there. _Lovely_.. You look up from the axe buried in the adorable Warg’s skull and follow the handle to Dwalin who places a boot on the dead creature’s flank to pull his weapon free.

“You, sir, have serious anger issues.. You know that, right?”

Impervious to your remark Dwalin’s whiskers merely bristle and he grunts an irritated _hmpf_ then exchanges a look with Thorin. You have no idea what it is they manage to communicate in that millisecond but you have a feeling it’s only his king’s command that has the bald warrior refrain from swinging his axe at you too and he pushes you unceremoniously into the gaping hole behind you.

There’s no time to complain about his rough treatment because you have to scramble to your feet and move out of the way for Thorin, the last dwarf to slide down the steep descent and into the hidden passage that leads all the way to the elven realm of Rivendell. Not that he knows this or that Gandalf will tell him yet. Nor will you. You like your head attached to your body, thank you very much.

Seeing there’s no room to walk side by side everyone forms a line and with Nori pattering along in front of you and Bofur trudging not far behind you make your shuffling way through the narrow canyon, all the way until after many a twisting turn and rise and drop all of you arrive at the ledge overlooking the Valley of Imladris.

You are impressed by the view, it _is_ stunning after all, but not wanting the dwarves to think you’re friends with those tree huggers that live here you square your shoulders and place your hands demonstratively on your hips. “Ugh, _elves_..” you state in pure loathing, drawing out that word as you do and finishing by spitting over the edge of the ravine in front of you. Your intentions may have been honorable, but you lack a certain awesomeness to pull it off and the force behind your spitting wasn’t enough to prevent a remnant of it to dangle in a long strand from your mouth.

Sputtering at first you then hastily wipe your mouth on your sleeve as the dwarves around you burst out laughing though you feel anything but disheartened seeing Dwalin actually gives you a pat on the shoulder and a semi-approving nod and you can swear Thorin subtly narrows his eyes at you in something close to appreciation. Well, either that or he’s gauging how much (or how _little_ ) force it would take to push you over that edge you stand ridiculously close to. You hastily step away from it just to be safe and also because the drop has your knees wobble like it always does. Gandalf rather dramatically rolled his eyes at your behavior when you meet his piercing gaze but you welcome that, after all, it’s practically an acknowledgement of your existence. In other words, progress, Gandaffle. _Progress_ …

Wishing for handrails to be obligatory in Middle Earth you simply squeeze your eyes tight shut and grab a fistful of Thorin’s tunic in front of you to steady and guide you over that narrow bridge spanning across the deep chasm and the roaring waterfall flowing through it. Fear of heights had not been a problem so far but you realized there was no hiding it now. Not that you wouldn’t deny suffering from it until your dying day. _These dwarves weren’t the only stubbornly proud fool_ s..

The idiot that you are, however, you can’t resist peeping open one eye to peer over the edge. It has you instantly dizzy and swerve to one side, making you yank on the tunic though the only reason you don’t tumble to your death (and what a waste it would’ve been!!) is the fact that Thorin apparently has an inbuilt alarm for this kind of thing and sensing you’re in danger his hand instantly reaches back and grabs a hold of you hoody to restore your balance and keep you from falling. Too scared and shaken to close your eyes again you leave them wide open with your shock and pick a spot, a silver strand in his long black hair to be precise, to lock your gaze onto.

Both of your hands clutch around the king’s arm like vines as it is bent backwards and still holding on to you. He safely marches you military style across that bridge without even having to look behind him to know that, _for once_ , you’re more than willing to follow obediently in his wake..

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** A cheesy thank you and corny digital hug to Poyuran, Nenuial and all the lovely guests for the kudos! 333 I just discovered I can actually directly reply to you guys’ comments…doh! So, I’ll be doing that from now on ;) And now, better get ready to swoon at a harp playing Thorin…I know I almost did when I imagined the scene while writing this chapter! hihi ;p

**Chapter 7**

Huddled together on an ivy riddled square surrounded by dainty statues that looked haughtily down on us you were more than a little annoyed at the hospitality of elves. Sure. There was no need to send in a parade with trumpets, champagne and confetti, but the pathetic one-man welcome committee now coming ambling down the stairs while the two guards on top of it didn’t move a damn muscle was downright insulting.

Gandalf had barely greeted that aloof elf who pretended we didn’t just gatecrash their valley when the sounds of clattering hoofs announced the coming of Elrond and those that had ridden out with him. The elves guided their horses deftly in ever closer circles, causing the dwarves around you to brandish weapons, bare teeth and form an even tighter group. Thorin had pushed you unceremoniously behind him and you could hear him growl out what must be expletives of the most creative kind in that guttural dwarf language you wish you understood for even Dwalin looked impressed.   

Sensing this was your cue to score yourself some points you bravely cowered behind Thorin and out of sight, then cupped your mouth with your hands and called out loudly to that stuck-up elf now taking an orc’s wacky staff from Elrond, “Oi, Lindir! Does your mother know you’re wearing her dress?!”

The dwarves snickered appreciatively, Kíli letting out a snort that would have made a hog jealous while Fíli catcalled at the elf you just owned and said elf screwed up his snotty face in pure loathing. _Ha_! Stepping out from behind Thorin you straighten, puff out your chest, place your hands on your hips and pout your lips in triumph only for the dwarf king to not so subtly elbow you in the stomach, and yank you back, muttering half proud, half vexed, “Don’t get cocky.”   

As warm and fuzzy as Thorin’s protectiveness made you feel inside, you were annoyed at how long the drama was taking and therefore all the more glad when all the hubbub finally gained unparalleled clarity as soon as food was mentioned. Forget appreciating elven architecture, you were too busy not being trampled by your gluttonous companions as they pushed and shoved you through Rivendell all the way to the terrace where low tables and poofs had been added for our sakes’.

To say dinner didn’t quite agree with the dwarves and you was a gross understatement. You had never been a salad person and the weirdly shaped sandwiches -or whatever those things piled on a platter like a pyramid were- had the texture of old newspapers, smelled like Dwalin’s socks and probably tasted like them too but you hadn’t been stupid enough to take a bite. Bombur had and his eyes bulged the moment he had gobbled half of them down before spitting them all out again, showering you, Bofur and Balin with the soggy, pulp-like lumps that was left of them.

The fact that Bombur who’d eat his own limbs if he could reach them around his rotund form demonstratively crossed his arms and pointedly pursed his lips together was enough indication for the rest of the dwarves to not even bother trying out the food and grumpily eye their hosts instead. For some reason your appetite had been pretty non-existent anyways and when Kíli started a food-fight it was a welcome distraction from your envious glances over at the main table where Thorin was sitting with the cool kids, seriously, you were going to hurt your neck if you kept that up.

Having run out of food to throw and Nori voicing his educated opinion on the music the elves treated us too, Bofur soon got to his feet and stood on his poof as if it was a pedestal, spreading his arms wide as he started the first song. The rest soon followed his lead, cheering, whooping and fists banging on the table as they did. 

It could have been the elven wine on empty stomachs that made the lyrics increasingly suggestive or it might have been your fault for pitching in with Gimli’s goldie oldie ‘when dwarves go swimming with little hairy women’, either way it got shadier and shadier on that terrace and not just because the sun set. Never having heard the rest of the lyrics you clasp a hand over your mouth in shock  as the most dirty minded of the group (i.e. everyone but Ori and Thorin though it was obvious the latter didn’t keep quiet because he didn’t know the lyrics) happily carry on while Dori reaches over the table –knocking over goblets and bowls in the process– to cover his youngest brother’s ears and ironically Gloín goes as red as his beard. It wasn’t hard to guess who taught his son that song.

And that turned out to not even be the highlight of the evening. That was when most elves had fled –including an affronted Elrond and miffed Gandalf– and Thorin pushed himself off of the pillar he’d been leaning effortlessly casual against, goblet in hand and keeping the beat with his boot tapping the stone. The dwarves excitedly awaited his performance when he made the last elf to remain scurry away from behind her harp without even having to look at her. _Bam_! The Force was strong with this one!!

The moment he plucked those first strings and high, but soft and ethereal notes drifted over to you, you knew you were in serious danger of drooling. The king simply excelled at the hijacked instrument, regardless of the fact that it was too big even for a tall dwarf like himself, so he stood, oozing regality and style while his fingers danced over the strings bringing forth a heavenly melody that wrapped itself around you.

It was magnetizing to watch him and listen. Hands grabbing a hold of the puffy fabric under your butt you shuffle your poof closer and closer until you were front row and then some. You plant your elbows on your knees, have your chin rest on your entwined hands and the song lures you to lean forward even more. _Bad move_..

Next thing you know you tumble right off your poof and head-butt the instrument, bowling over both instrument and player. There was a loud crack and for a moment you felt your world would end if you’d just broken that handsome dwarf. Not wanting to know just how bad things are you squeeze your eyes tight shut and go to your happy place until you can hear Thorin’s dark muttering close to your ear, his warm breath brushing passed it.

“That tickles..!” you giggle, over the moon that the stunning dwarf doesn’t appear to even have a scratch on him despite your clumsiness. Realizing what made you say that he hurriedly wriggles himself out from under you until, with a grunt either in victory or annoyance he manages to untangle himself from the wood fragments and snapped strings. Oh and you. You were still somewhere in that heap too. Thorin scoffed in your direction but then offered you his hand to pull you to your feet anyway.

He starts to dust you off with a frown and an exasperated sigh that’s not half as convincing as it could be seeing he looks strangely smug at the same time, “Couldn’t you have admired my play from a distance?”

Something was off about his voice. There was a hint of something you’d never heard before breaking through the gruff remonstrance. _Was that his teasing tone…_? Wait. Thorin _had_ a teasing tone??

“Well, couldn’t you?” he repeats after your initial silence.

“No.” your honest admission has Thorin pause mid-brush of your sleeve where splinters stick out at weird angles, his questioning gaze prompting you to hastily add in your defense, “I did try, you know.”

“Indeed.” he replied, not a question but not quite a statement either. His mouth quirked for the briefest of moments as he finishes dusting off your shoulders, hands resting on them a little longer. _Is that endearment you see flickering like miniature stars in those blue depths_?  

“I’ll try harder next time.” you quickly assure him when eventually he blinks and a split second later his hands do slide off your shoulders and he half turns to leave. Thorin arches a brow in response to your promise and flicks a self-explanatory look at the debris around your feet.

_Ah_.

Deflated is not a strong enough word to describe how you feel when you drag your feet and hang your shoulders following the troop of tipsy dwarves to a gazebo type of structure upholding a balcony  with lofty arches. More than anything you wanted to hear Thorin play harp again and the fact that you had singlehandedly wrecked that possibility was making you feel very crappy indeed. It was probably why Thorin closed his mouth with a snap the moment he had been on the verge of insisting you take one of the guest rooms overhead. One look at your face, expression the volatile mix of being pissed of at yourself and a super gloomy depression, instantly clued him in to just how futile the attempt at chivalry would’ve been. Semi-glad you don’t have to resort to a temper-tantrum, you huff your gratitude a little sourly once Thorin has given you the green light to stay with the others for the night, just like you had been doing on the road.

Hoping sleep can somehow make up for the horrible harp-less reality you find yourself in –which totally sucks balls!– you unroll your bedroll next to where the dwarf king was making to do the same thing. You should’ve known that was too good to be true. He obviously set a trap and you went ahead and sprang it. Pretending with a satisfied glint lighting up his steely blue eyes that suddenly the spot furthest away from you was more suitable for his royal butt to repose he and his bedroll marched away. _Playing hard to get, huh_? You grumpily think to yourself as you watch him settle under a vine infested arbor. _Well, you better watch yourself, buddy_ , you mentally warn him, _because you knew how to play that game too_!  

You demonstratively turn on your other side, back towards him and the other dwarves, lips pouting and arms crossed as you try to will yourself to sleep. Yeah. So that strategy obviously never works. Around you one by one the dwarves dozed off until their snoring grew so loud the crickets in the valley must have taken personal offence because even in the intermittent pauses between snores you couldn’t hear them anywhere.

Still pouting for your mood simply warranted that particular look to stick on your face for at least another hour, you grudgingly open your heavy eyelids to stare at the shadowy outlines of rosebushes and trees and trying to pick up the calming babbling of a nearby brook. The latter of course is practically impossible because of your companions’ snoring that’s still swelling in volume the deeper asleep the dwarves become but then suddenly you hear a soothing sound amidst it all that, surely, you must’ve imagined.

You strain your ears and your pout instantly morphs into a broad grin when you hear again that same succession of pleasant _plunking_ and _twanging_ that grows gradually louder as if the source of it is nearing. Excitement tingling along your spine you sit up straight and can just make out Thorin’s tall and kingly figure as he expertly avoids tripping over the sleeping dwarves and makes his steady way towards you. The sparse moonlight that peeps through the clouds makes something gold and delicate gleam dully and your heart skips a beat when you spot the small harp in his hands.

Of course! You should have known! That was in the book! The happy surprise immediately cures you of your low spirits and you impatiently wait for Thorin to reach you.

“Play for me?” you whisper once he’s close enough. He simply nods and sinks down to sit cross-legged next to your bedroll.

“Perhaps a lullaby will send you off to sleep, if nothing else will, Miss Ruby-”

“Ruby. Just Ruby. Miss makes me feel like an old spinster.” you interject, cursing the timing for your pride to be piqued but Thorin seemed not to mind.

“Very well... _Ruby_.” he gracefully grants you your request.

“And, yes, a lullaby would be perfect. Oh! And could you hum a bit too?”

For a moment you’re not sure if he’s going to comply to your wishes but then he inclines his head at you in that incredibly noble way that makes your stomach do a summersault-

_Oh_ …..

No, no, no. That didn’t mean what logic dictated it meant. Well, that’s what you hoped anyway. 

Forcing yourself to focus on the here and now, you make yourself comfortable in your bedroll, a sense of perfect bliss coursing through you as you lose yourself in the song Thorin softly murmurs in that bone-tingling deep baritone voice of his and the accompanying melody he plays on the harp carries you off to sleep in no time.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update! Huge thanks to everyone for leaving kudos/bookmarking/commenting: those notifications make my day!! 333 Enjoy~

**Chapter 8**

You wake up to a lot of grumbling and complaining, it seemed this early morning grouchy-pants were in no short supply. Still. They weren’t exactly competition to your foul pre-caffeine mood (the obvious lack of coffee had only made that worse) and so you rose to your feet, stretched like an old lady with authentic _umphfs_ and _ows_ included then head over to the cluster of dwarves.

“All right, what seems to be the problem this time ladies? Bed bugs? Ran out of lip gloss?”

Balin shakes his head rather ruefully, “It is nothing, lass. Nothing except that we cannot read the hidden text on our map as long as the moon doesn’t match the one of the day on which it was written.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I remember that bit.” you mumble to yourself, ignoring the old dwarf’s furrowed brows seeing he’s close enough to have picked up on your enigmatic pondering, “So how long are we here for?”

At this Balin’s questioning frown deepens, his face set in a grimace. If the most clearheaded, patient dwarf of the gang is this pessimistic, it can’t be good.

“Three weeks.” Thorin beats him to it, appearing from among the throng of bickering dwarves and grinding the words out with nothing short of burning hatred.

“Lame.” you respond, drawing out the word with a practiced bored air, “Do you think they’ve got a shopping mall where we could hang out?”

Thorin’s forehead creases as he tries to understand what you’re talking about and it only wrinkles more when you list other options in the hope at least one would sound familiar, “KFC? Happy Hour? Karaoke bar? … _Playground_?” you add a little self-consciously although you’d kill for a slide or jungle jim right now, it’s not like those had age limits and you were so good at getting in touch with that inner child..

“Play?” Thorin repeats with undisguised scorn, although that bitterness might also be due to the fact that it was probably one of the few if not the only word that made sense to him. “We may be stranded here for the time being, but that does not mean the quest is no longer our priority. I suggest we make use of these weeks to do something conducive to reaching our ultimate goal. Prepare for the way ahead. And also keep an eye open for any sign that our hosts are deceiving us.” he added darkly, the latter suggestion having the others murmur in agreement and cast suspicious glances over their shoulders.   

‘Prepare for the way ahead’ had sounded pretty swell but for you the first week turned out to be one of utter boredom. The dwarves turned into their usual secretive selves and spent hours pouring over maps other than the one they couldn’t read yet, discussing which route would be best, who could be potential allies, as well as dusting off battle strategies the older, experienced warriors amongst them relayed in great detail to the younger ones. You kept aside of most of these little meetings, for one you weren’t overly interested in politics and war tactics, and what was more, it was a little too tempting to just spill the beans and tell them the riddle you didn’t need to wait on Elrond to read to know. You had pretty much memorized it right about the same time you lost count of the number of times you watched those movies.

After days of twiddling your thumbs and having bland salads for dinner, though, it was becoming increasingly harder to stick to your new resolution not to influence the plot with your knowledge of it. Everyone was getting restless already to be on the move again and Thorin had taken to ambling (read: storming) through the valley, face taut, shoulders tense and brows set in a brooding line. He resembled some fierce animal in the zoo, pacing back and forth in too small a cage more and more and watching him return to the gazebo area (a.k.a. ‘dwarf HQ’) looking grave and grim made you feel equally trapped here. Realizing his impatient but confident stride was gradually changing to a wary trudge was demotivating to say the least. After all, if the cocky king was sporting doubts, then probably so should you..      

When you tried to follow Thorin on his aimless wandering the last day of the first week, however, mind not made up yet whether you would tell him the message those still hidden moon runes contained once you had caught up to him, he easily managed to lose you and you in turn lost your way as well as the dwarf king. In other words, it was the very opposite of win-win.

To add injury to insult, it took you what you guessed was more than hour at least to find Dwalin who had semi-intimidated you into meeting with him this afternoon. You hadn’t thought a clandestine rendezvous would be his style but then again it was often the quite types that surprised you. Luckily you were spared the embarrassment of having to turn him down no matter how correct he was in seeing how wildly attractive you were because he was waiting for you in a courtyard kind of place where most of the other dwarves were sparring with lethal looking axes, swords and spears.

Oh, oh….

 _Run_!!

You don’t get very far. If anything this whole adventure has made you slower not faster so far.

Holding on to the hood of your hoody (damn you should have crossed over wearing a sweater!) Dwalin easily holds you back, effectively tethering you to the spot, “Nothing wrong with your flight reflexes, but how about the other one?”

“W-what other one?” you stammer hesitantly and feeling quite frankly scared out of your pants.

“Can you fight, lass?”

“Um…”

“Yes or no?”  the warrior turns on the third degree as he drags you closer by your hoody, making you wonder who’s going to be the good cop and why the hell it’s taking whoever it is this long to come to your rescue.

“Well?”

You wrack your brain to come up with an answer that will both get you out of this (and not _into_ a coma) and convince the seasoned soldier scowling down at you from over his crooked nose not to make you be his personal punch bag for the remaining two weeks, “Uh.. Does button mashing count?” you ask hopefully, hunching your shoulders in anticipation of a tongue-lashing.

Dwalin doesn’t say a word but he actually rolls his eyes which could’ve been a comical sight had it not been for the wide range of razor sharp weapons currently at his disposal.

“Pick your weapon, lass.” he simply barks at you, finally letting go of your hoody and you almost trip over your own feet now he pushes you none too gently in the direction of an impressive arsenal laid out before you.

“I’d rather not. Don’t know where those’ve been. Sorry.” you hurriedly excuse yourself but Dwalin blocks the way forward with his broad, muscular chest all puffed up.

“We won’t always be there to protect you.” he tells you gruffly, then leans in a bit, adding a confidential whisper, “Just.. Just take _something_ to defend yourself with.” For the first time his tone betrays a pleading edge and you realize he’s as unhappy with having been assigned the task to make you battle ready as you are to be trained.

“If I do, then are we done here?” you probe cautiously, hope flaring up as Dwalin grunts his affirmation, glad you’re catching on unusually quick today. You didn’t doubt nothing short of his unswerving loyalty to Thorin had made him invite you to the sparring sessions of the dwarves, but luckily for you he wasn’t adverse to cutting a few corners in the execution of the task undoubtedly set to him by his king. As long as he technically had equipped you with a weapon he would in all likelihood consider he’d kept his word. 

“All right..” you muse, gaze straying from one axe to the next and finally deciding to skip the spear and go for a mean looking war-hammer instead. You swear you can hear your spine practically crack when you try to lift if off the ground. Pretending you were merely admiring the remarkable craftsmanship –in all honesty it could’ve been a crap quality hammer but to you they all looked the same– and moved over to pick up a short sword that looked a lot lighter…but _wasn’t_.

Rubbing your sore back you could hear Dwalin’s impatient throat-clearing and you hurriedly go for a small throwing axe. This time you manage to actually lift the damn thing off the ground but the handle’s kinda slippery and the iron axe head is still heavy enough to cause you trouble and it scrapes over the ground as you decide against straightening your back and instead drag it behind you as you make your way back to the burly dwarf, hunched over and puffing as you go.

Dwalin is pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘Durin give me strength’ while all around the clamoring of weapons clashing has died down and most of the dwarves are looking at the two of you. Great. Just what you needed: an audience consisting of expert warriors while you yourself were still struggling to cover the not so great distance between you and Dwalin with the axe behaving like an obstinate bull dog that didn’t want to go for a walk with the weak-ass loser dragging it along.

“Why don’t you try this?” Ori appears at your side out of nowhere, holding out a slingshot to you with his two friendly eyes twinkling in support. _Thanked be the sweet merciful deity who reigned this bizarre world for making the good cop finally show up_!

“It’s a spare one, you can keep it. Oh, in exchange for one of those bubbly gums.” the young dwarf offered in his usual stuttering way, dangling the slingshot encouragingly in front of you for emphasis.

Inside of you a terrible mental battle wages as you contemplate the choice before you. So... That sling thing didn’t look very cool. And you wanted to look cool. You wouldn’t with that thing. Plus it would set you back one chewing gum, with your stores running low, you should make a better deal out of it. Then again, those other weapons didn’t just _look_ heavy and too big too wield, they _were_ actually way out of your league.

 _Hmm_..

On second thought..

That sling was starting to look pretty bad ass!  

“Deal.” you snatch Ori’s trademark weapon out of his hand before you change your mind or he retracts the offer and you face Dwalin afterwards as boldly as you dare.

“Well, I’m armed now so mission accomplished, big guy. You can run off and tell Thorin you’ve done as ordered.”

“You sure you know how to use that?” the dwarf gauges, whisker twitching as if in mockery at the slingshot in your hand.

You feign insult and take on your most aggressive pose (read: about as intimidating as a one-eyed puppy with a limp) and address Ori next to you without unlocking your eyes from Dwalin’s stern ones. 

“Mind if I grab your nuts?”

“Miss Ruby!! I-I…” Ori sputters, instantly turning pinker than the chewing gum you promised him.

“ _Ha_ - _zel_ - _nuts_.” you enunciate clearly, deliberately pausing between every syllable as if you’re talking to a troll that just had a rather unsuccessful brain surgery.

Mumbling something incoherent and turning an interesting shade of red in his embarrassment, the young dwarf quickly fumbles with the pouch on his belt and hands you his ammo without daring to look up from his nervously shuffling feet. 

You try to ignore the fact that most of the dwarves have paused their own training for a closer look and are snickering either at Ori’s self-conscious awkwardness or at the prospect of you using that slingshot. Kíli and Fíli are actually rofling after you turned pro nut cracker (see what you did there?? _Ha_!) so you take your aim, hitting a moving target was bound to impress Dwalin.

Too bad you missed those two brats. Only by a mile or so. You tried again and managed to hit your toe, but that could have been because the hazelnut just fell out of the slingshot. OK. No need to panic or take those giggles and snorts personal. After all, third time’s a charm..!

You ready the slingshot again but the moment you position the hazelnut and pull back the band as far as you can it slips out of your hand and slaps you in the face with an unforgiving _snap_.

“Aw! God _dang_ it!” you exclaim with heartfelt conviction, dropping the slingshot and rubbing your lower lip which is swelling rapidly and already throbbing like mad.

“Yeah, OK, so I’m a fwittle out of pwactice.” you try to brush off your pathetic performance though your thick lip makes it difficult to talk normally and your ‘so fucking what’ glare is totally destroyed by Dwalin’s ‘no shit sherlock’ frown, one brow raised the other furrowed down. … _How do people even do that_?!   

“Don’t bworry thwough. I gwot this!” you shout at the bald warrior as he shakes his head at you. Desperate to prove yourself you pick up the slingshot and brandish it in his direction, which practically speaking meant you were shaking a weird, tiny, wooden, two-pronged fork at him as the rubber band attached to it wobbled unimpressively with the movement.

“Just try not to hurt yourself or get in our way when we’re attacked on the road.” Dwalin sighs out, for a moment it looks as if he’s considering taking that slingshot from you for your own protection but then he simply shakes his head with a snort and starts to walk off.

“So you’ll tell Pfhorin to get off my cwase with the cwombulsory weapons fraining, yeah?” you check, wanting to make sure you never had to go through all of this again.

“Aye.” Dwalin calls back over his shoulder, adding a little too loudly to be an afterthought for just himself, “You’d kill yourself sooner than any orc ever could.”

The others burst out laughing then pretend they’re suddenly interested in the local flora as they look away and disperse the moment you whisk around to glower them in submission. You even think you can catch glimpses here and there of coins flashing a metally silver or gold as covertly money changes hands, it wasn’t hard to guess what, or rather _who_ , they’d bet on.

Pockets bulging with a fat profit if the jingling sound they make as they walk is anything to go by, Fíli and Kíli are the last to return to their sparring, sending winks and nods in you direction that could’ve been apologetic and even sympathetic had it not been for the identical shit eating grins that accompany them.

Your low growl at them is interrupted when you startle a bit now you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn to face your assailant only to realize Ori has stayed behind with you, “You’ll get the hang of it. Eventually.” he says softly, patting your shoulder comfortingly.

 _Damn it_. That dwarf was even cute when he lied through his teeth.  

***

“Miss Ruby-”

The glare you send in the dwarf king’s direction has him gulp back the rest of that sentence and he catches on fairly quickly as to the reason for your non-verbal rebuke.

“ _Ruby_ ,” he tries again with admirable compliance, his long black hair darkening along with the sky which hurries to nightfall through a palette of indigo and purple, “I trust your skills with your weapon of choice are finely tuned by now?”

His question evokes snickers from Fíli and Kíli who momentarily forget the whetstones and swords in their hands in favor of laughing at your expense. You refrain from throwing something at their cute little heads only because _you_ know that _they_ don’t know yet you just gobbled down the remaining handful of sticky toffees on your way back to HQ from the training grounds because it’s a well-known recipe to at least attempt to cure the humongous dent in your pride. For your part you couldn’t wait to see the horror-stricken looks on their smug, princely faces once they found out they just got sentenced to lifelong caramel depravity. _Oh, sometimes you just really loved how evil you could be..!_

“A sling was it?” Thorin probes, unaware of your vindictive thoughts and drawing your attention back to himself again. You could swear his mouth quirked for the briefest of moments as something suspiciously close to a twinkling found its way to those motionless puddles of deep blue; half-repressed amusement shimmering like ripples on the clear surface of a lake.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I taught Ori a trick or two just now.” A blatant lie. Obviously. The scribe had turned out to be pretty lethal with that thing, which only made you feel an even bigger loser for not once having hit the mark you were supposed to hit. Never mind you did give that grasshopper a good scare by clumsily dropping your slingshot right on top of him, that could hardly be ascribed to your improving prowess as a warrior.

“I am sure he appreciated your advice greatly, especially since it came from someone as battle-ready as yourself.” Balin remarked in his usual father Christmas way with beady eyes squeezed, gloved hands folded around his round belly and forked beard swaying as he tipped his head in your direction in a gesture of support.

“Yup, wouldn’t wanna be the next orc to cross my path..” you snort arrogantly in response to his undeserved praise, conveniently ignoring the sarcasm embedded in it too.

“No, indeed.” Dwalin sitting across from him murmured in agreement, though something about his arched, bushy brows and his tone made you doubt he was pitying it for the right reasons.

“I am glad to hear it.” Thorin nodded in seeming approval, or so you hoped, and motions to the daintily carved poof opposite him, the only one of four gathered around a tiny and equally elegant table that was still free, “Though of course physical fitness is but one half of the coin. It is our minds that need training too. Why don’t you show us your mental aptitude through a little game?”

“Sure. Why not.” you take the bait, wondering whether you should have and approaching the three dwarves a little warily, eyes scanning the table until they lock onto an ancient looking deck of cards with frayed edges and stains on their decorated backs.

“If this is to become a duel of minds, perhaps it is time we took our leave, brother.” Balin mumbled semi-apologetically and he and Dwalin rose the moment your butt hit the poof, “Besides this game is meant for two, I deem..”

The old dwarf’s highly enigmatic and what you supposed must be a meaningful and completely obvious wink in the direction of his king was met with a look nothing short of outrage. It was clear from the way Thorin watched the Fundin brothers go that he considered their sudden departure nothing short of treason.

“So… What are we playing?” you ask, wiggling on your poof in excitement as your eyes flit back and forth from the deck of cards to Thorin’s uncharacteristically unnerved expression.

 _Strip poker, strip poker, strip poker, strip poker!_ , you inwardly chant to yourself, crossing your fingers under the table and hoping Jedi mind tricks worked in this universe too.

 _“_ The game is called _bennar_ , which means as much as ‘ultimate treasure’ in-”

“Khuzdul.” you blurt out, partly prompted to mask your disappointment now the dwarf opposite you would in all likelihood keep his clothes on and also wanting to make up for acts and/or remarks indicative of stupidity you may or may not have previously displayed on this trip.

Thorin was effectively stunned into silence, genuine surprise gathering in his eyes. And suspicion slowly crept in them too.

 _Oh, oh_..

“How do you know the name of my race’s tongue?”

So, the honest answer to that would be: NEEEERD! But that’s not what comes out of your mouth, which was sadly nothing more than a pathetic and suspiciously drawn out, “Uuum…”

Truth was, Thorin had just put on his xenophobic cap again and on an intimidating-as-shit-scale of one to five he was coming in at like four.

“It is supposed to be a well-guarded secret.” he expertly tightened the thumbscrew.

“I uh.. I spent a lot of time on the road. And inns. You know, like the Prancing Pony. Usually it’s so packed you accidentally pick up a phrase or two from other travelers now and then whether you want to or not.”

“I see. Tell me, is eavesdropping on dwarves an habitually occurring… _accident_?” The meaningful emphasis was kind of overdone in your humble opinion, his piercing look alone was more than enough to clue you in to his lingering mistrust. And here you had been thinking he’d left most of that behind in Bag End.   

Right. High time to get fired up yourself and make your stand.

“Not particularly. Though you can hardly blame me for their loud voices carrying over to my ears, tiny or not.”

“Yes. They are.” he conceded after a moment in a strangely dreamy voice a sharp contrast with his terse tone seconds before, his eyes had strayed to examine your ears, turning a strange misty hue in the process too which only cleared when, blinking wildly, he roused himself as if from a trance, “And no. You are right, I cannot. Blame hardly rests on you for the fact that ale loosens tongues, even when they belong to a race as secretive as ours.”

“Exactly my point.” you hurriedly concur, relieved your head was momentarily off the chopping block again.

“Very well. I take it that despite your interesting knowledge about us dwarves you are not familiar with the rules of this game?”

You rigorously shake your head then plant your elbows on the table with your chin resting on your folded hands as Thorin goes on to explain.

“The goal is to gather wealth and try to trade your jewels and precious stones for more valuable ones. To win, however, one has to be the first to capture the ultimate treasure. Fail to do so and your accumulated riches count for very little..”

He starts shuffling the cards rather abruptly after this, all of his attention bend to that one task.

“So, what is it??” you probe, impatient to know what he had left out whether on purpose or not.

“What is what?” Thorin replied, obviously faking ignorance and indifference which only served to pique your curiosity even more.

“The ultimate treasure, of course!” you fill in on his behalf. Interestingly his hands freeze at this, causing some cards to tumble from his grasp before he must have answered you for you saw his lips move but barely a sound had come out.

“What?” you lean in closer, brows furrowed and ears strained.

Thorin stirs uncomfortably, fingers fumbling to keep the rest of the pack from escaping his hold too and eventually mumbling with visible difficulty and a voice as small as a shy toddler’s, “Heart.”

Yours automatically starts racing the moment you catch that word so unwillingly released. Okay. So this turned this dwarvish game into one far more romantic than you’d expected.

“If I manage to get my hands on your heart, I win?” you check incredulously, a bubbly sort of joy tickling the inside of your throat as if you just downed a bottle of soda in one go.

“Your _opponent_ ’s heart,” Thorin corrects you rather self-consciously and you can swear a faint blush creeps up on his cheeks but in the dim light surrounding you both it’s hard to tell, “But yes, that is the general purpose of the game.”

After that concession Thorin stoically deals the cards and you’re on your own. Following his lead and occasional clipped instruction you figure out how to play and which cards to use for what purpose and when. You can barely keep track of all the precious stones you squander along the way even though you haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of that ‘heart’ card that Thorin must be keeping ridiculously close to his chest.

About half an hour into the game, and at the point where you start to make sense of it, you’re spurred on to make a bold move when you feel you’ve finally figured out which of the closely guarded and face-down cards laid out on the table must be the one. It turns out your hunch is way off base and costs you several diamonds. The enticing grin that curves Thorin’s mouth and lights up his eyes before he can stop the impulse only increases your eagerness to try again but when your hand hovers over his other cards to attempt a new risky gamble his reaches out to do the same with yours.

The moment your fingertips bump into his it’s like you’ve just put them straight into a power socket; a sensation like electricity shoots through your arm, crawls along the side of your neck and prickles that sensitive area behind your ear. The split second that it lasts is enough to have you take in a sharp breath in delight and your eyes find his almost instinctually. You’re not sure if it has the same effect on Thorin but judging by his suddenly diluted pupils and frozen form you deduce he must have felt _something_.

As if determined to prove you wrong or make you doubt your intuition in this case, Thorin snaps himself out of his captivation, clears his throat as he mumbles a gruff sort of apology and consciously avoids another similar incident from happening. Despite your not so stealthy efforts to make him fail he succeeds for about a dozen turns, until a lucky guess on your side finally has you place your hand on that one card you’ve been coveting to discover the entire game already.

Forgetting his resolve Thorin practically slams his hand down, his bigger one enveloping yours, thumb and index fingers brushing either side of your wrist while his calloused but soft palm presses against your knuckles. Electricity’s switched back on again, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. There’s no room for your fingers to maneuver, for your free pinky to curl and claw under the edge of the card to take a peek. Not that you needed to see the squiggly runes Thorin had translated earlier to mean heart to know you found it.

You can swear his adam’s apple moves ever so subtly in his throat as Thorin clenches his jaw, swallows as inconspicuously as he can and carefully but determinedly pries your hand off the card and drags it to a stack of cards depicting emeralds instead.

Reluctantly you accept the bribe, pouting slightly as you try to think of a way to make him give up his heart to you. Thorin, however, made sure to have his hands, or his eyes for that matter stray anywhere near yours in order not to give away its position again as both of you continue to play card after card, collecting and losing bits and pieces of your respective treasure hoards. As it is a vital part of the game, Thorin deftly manages to rearrange his cards every other turn to make you lose sight of the one you’re after and you end up exchanging gold for silver, rubies for sapphires and gemstones for practically worthless bronze cups.

Still, it could be your overactive imagination but soon you begin to suspect a certain someone is prolonging the game to postpone your admittedly inevitable defeat. Seeing you suck at any Stratego type of game, it’s pretty obvious where you’ve hidden your heart card and that Thorin knows this too. Nevertheless, he stubbornly refuses to go anywhere near it no matter how many riches you arrange around it to lure him in (yes, that was the very opposite of the game’s purpose but the very idea of the dwarf king taking your heart for his own was an incredible turn on), and so you’re well and truly drowsy with sleep when another hour passes.

“Perhaps the lass needs some sleep, Thorin.” A voice right next to you suddenly states, making you jump in your skin halfway through another drawn-out yawn, the muscles of your wide open mouth pausing in that awkward position when Thorin snaps his head up to face you and Balin who’d walked over from his bedroll. If the increasing volume of snoring is anything to go by you two must be one of the few still awake.

Fully coming to his senses it seemed, Thorin practically catapulted himself off of his wobbly chair as if he’d been sitting on a tightly wound spring. You aren’t sure whether it was embarrassment or good old fashioned annoyance that glinted in his eyes like smoldering embers as he bent his back in a hurried half-bow, mumbled goodnight and  strode off into the fireflies infested valley of Rivendell.

It was oh so tempting to follow him into the heavily flower-scented and somewhat sultry night but instead you let Balin escort you to your bedroll, your eyelids were so heavy it was like they were made out of lead and you honestly couldn’t keep them open for much longer.

 _If Thorin had this much stamina for playing card games_.

You laid down your head on one of those feathery elven cushions with dreamy visions as you pondered others ways his admirable endurance could be applied…     

 


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for the kudos my lovelies! Same goes for bookmarks &comments: air-kisses for everyone! 333**

**Chapter 9**

You didn’t exactly know how it had come to this, but you were dancing with Thorin. You were pretty sure it wasn’t an act of loyalty towards Gandalf to back up his words when he’d ensured their host the rag-tag bunch he’d dragged in was ‘surprisingly cultured’. Far more likely scenario was that it was simply a result of the fact that the dwarves didn’t want to be outdone by elves…in _anything_.

Apparently that now included dancing when Elrond had the tables cleared away for their annual spring festival. Elves were making music with the weirdest looking instruments and twirling around each other like birds of paradise on steroids.

Not that you were complaining. You’d maneuvered yourself across the plaza in such a way that Thorin kept bumping into you (or you into him technically) and eventually he’d grumbled something and taken you in his arms so you’d be less of a distraction now he was competing against Lindir for the prestigious title of queen of the dancefloor.

“Perhaps it’s best if you let me lead you.” he suggested after you’d stepped on his toes. _Again_.

You’d been pretty lost in those puddles of deep blue that you catch only half of that and just nod fervently when he cocks am impatient brow at you.

True. You hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to where you were placing your feet. Then again. The tips of his boots were metal plated (possibly for occasions such as these) so you doubted he’d even felt it.

With your unspoken permission he pressed you harder against his chest and swirled you around, right passed Lindir’s upturned nose. A vein above his temple twitched now the willowy elf he’d been dancing with had sprained her ankle and couldn’t keep up with his whirlwind pace anymore.

You could swear Thorin’s gloating made him even more handsome but when you sighed in admiration his self-assured expression wavered and before you knew it he dipped you backwards. You let out a strangled yelp and inelegant _umphf_ , feeling your spine arch in a way you’re not sure is entirely natural. Straightening again with his help the world spins around in front of your eyes and you’re grateful for the dwarf king’s tight hold on you. 

At that moment Fíli and Kíli zip passed at warp speed, crown prince sending you a knowing grin and his baby brother giving you a way too conspicuous thumbs-up before they continue whirling around each other flapper style. Ori and Dwalin meanwhile, of all unlikely dance-partners, were floating gracefully across the terrace, in a tucked-away corner of which Bifur was doing his own alternative-looking interpretative dance thing.

Center stage Bofur and Nori were still entangled in their river-dance style dance off, faces red from exertion, floppy hat lopsided on the miner’s head and the thief’s elaborate hairstyle falling apart. It was hard to tell which of the two was more fanatical. The one to run away with the prize, though, might turn out to be Bombur who was doing an impressive belly dance that made Elrond’s eyes bulge and choke on his salad.

Lastly, Gloín and Oín did a marvelous tango while Balin claimed he was too old and his dancing days were over (cheap sell out!) so that Dori was left on his own performing a hip-wiggling _cha cha cha_ while the forked-bearded dwarf’s nose got redder and redder as he sat back slurping wine.

What really triggered your heart to flutter like a drunk butterfly, was when the orchestra changed the tune and struck up a  waltz. You and the dwarf king swirled around each other as if caught in a vortex and you weren’t sure the dizzy sensation that made you feel close to light-headed was due to the pivoting movement.

Soon in serious danger of running out of air –how could he keep this up without so much as breaking a sweat?!- Thorin expertly twirled you around your axis the moment the music swelled magnificently one last time before it dwindled into abrupt silence. Dwarf and elf alike instantly clapped now the evening had drawn to a close. That included your dance partner. As a result he’d released your fingers from his own mid-twirl, sending you off like a spinning top.  

You spectacularly lost your balance though luckily you tripped over your own feet and fell in the right direction. That direction being the dwarf king who caught you midair and made it all seem as if the whole thing was planned. That damn smirk on his face alone had you believe that he did.

“Woah... Strauss eat your heart out! That was some serious waltzing-”

“Bedtime, I think.” Thorin cut you short, returning you to an upright position before retreating his hands from your body and clasping them almost deliberately behind his back as he made to go.

“W-what?” you stutter, still swaying a little on the spot, “Wait.. Are you- Are you hitting on me? Is that like your line?”

“The sun is still some hours away, try and get some sleep.” Thorin grumbled back.

Your shoulders sag in disappointment but you’re not ready to give up just yet, “So, this is not the moment where we sneak off to make out in some bushes?”

Thorin freezes in his tracks, then calls tersely over his shoulder, “I am not familiar with the procedure you are referring to –he expertly ignores your snort and ‘pfff, _yeah right_!’- but I feel it is best if you do not follow us.”

“Is that your undiplomatic way of saying the after party’s going to involve lap-dancing strippers and I need to take a hike?”

You cross your arms demonstratively over your chest but it’s hard to stay angry when Thorin does turn around this time, eyes riddled with confusion and brows knitted together. If ever a dwarf looked more non-plussed than he did at the moment they’d just kissed an elf.

“Er.. I don’t know what that means exactly but.. But suffice it to say that it wouldn’t be appropriate for a woman to join us.”

At that moment Dwalin gruffly called out to his king and friend, most of the other dwarves were already marching away from the terrace in a disorderly line, their boisterous songs filling the entirety of the valley.

“Sleep well, Ruby.” Thorin rather hastily took his leave, casting a surreptitious glance or two back at you until he and everyone else of your travel companions was out of sight.

“Yeah. Thanks..” you mumble grumpily but start in the opposite direction when you spot an elf you are not sure is male or female walking over to you with two glasses filled to the brim with wine in his (her?) hands. Sure. Kissing a girl is still on your bucket list. But you would like to know it when you do it. Let’s just say you weren’t going to judge Kíli for grabbing that guy elf. After all, all of them wore dresses and with the moon little more than a crescent and nothing but candles, torches and lanterns for light it was anyone’s guess who you were supposed to flirt with.

So, being the good and obedient girl that you are –there’s a first time for everything–, you retire to your bedroll, press your eyes shut and try not to relive the dancing this evening. Or more specifically the feeling of your dance partner holding you in his arms.

Soon half sleeping, half dreaming of a tea party with orc toddlers, baby dwarves and your very own mini teddy bear, everything seemed to go according to plan but then you’d heard the first splash and hadn’t been able to resist temptation. Who would? At this very moment a sexy dwarf’s butt would be on display. Well, thirteen butts, to be precise, but you suspected there was one in particular you wanted to glimpse. _Again_..

A little voice inside of your head which sounded so unfamiliar you were pretty sure it must be your conscious tried to stop you, arguing you needed an early start in the morning to prep for Nori’s burglary lessons, but it was quickly overruled at the prospect of bathing dwarves. If anything you wanted to find out if their lack of height was any indication.. And no. That didn’t make you a pervert.

You tiptoe your way to the fountains which aren’t hard to find. All you have to do is follow the tell-tale noise of splashes, laughter and cheering. Chuckling to yourself you tiger through the flower covered shrubs and emerge all sandy and disheveled on the other side where you have a clear view of the dwarves. A quick head count tells you all you need to know. There is one dwarf missing..

 _Where did that blasted king go_?!

A branch snaps behind you and, still on all fours, you swivel around to find him standing behind you. With his hands positioned on his hips and his feet planted firmly on the ground his muscles are taut and pronounced, the ones on his chest flexing ever so alluringly when he breathes in and out, eyes piercing yours.

“Stealing a peek?”  

Hmm..

 _Was that a joke_?

Oh, oh, play along, quick!

“Well, I am a thief. Stealing’s kinda is in the job description.” you reply, your voice the equivalent of a cat purring as you scramble to your feet burlesque style. To his credit Thorin stands his ground even when you seductively flick your hair back as you straighten, though it might just be that you don’t manage to pull it off and he’s simply waiting for you to be on eye instead of crotch level.

“That may be, but I fail to see what you could possibly steal from a group of bathing dwarves. They have shed all possessions after all. Besides,” he drawls, leaving a delicious pause as he takes a step closer and your knees inadvertently wobble as moonlight hits his toned body, “aren’t I the only one left to be robbed?”

Guilty. On all charges. It was hardly a secret you’d been trying to improve your thieving skills, though you and Nori were obviously making it seem as if _you_ were showing _him_ how it was done –not the other way round. Your lengthy stop in Rivendell, a safe haven if a bit boring, was the perfect opportunity to put theory into practice and who better to rob but your own dwarf friends? You didn’t want to think too much about why you were acquiring these new skills. You’d cross that bridge when you got there.

So far you had pilfered Balin’s chained magnifying glass, the Durin brothers’ dwarf equivalent of pin-up postcards, Ori’s pink socks, Bofur’s tobacco pouch, Bombur’s ladle, Bifur’s carved figurine of a troll, Gloin’s beads, Dori’s hairpins, Oin’s flask with ‘medication’, Nori’s pipe –stole it, he didn’t just ‘misplace it’– and Dwalin’s whiskers trim set. That left the incredibly attractive dwarf taking yet another step closer as you grope around in your mind for an answer, _any_ answer, as long as it isn’t a question involving the words ‘I’ ‘you’ and ‘touch’.

“Uh.. Yes. M-maybe.” your voice grows smaller –and significantly higher– now Thorin’s not much more than a yard away.  

“Pity I’ve got nothing on me that would suffice then.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” you swallow hard, your eyes flitting down to the white cloth wrapped tight around his hips before shooting up to meet his again, “that towel might not be worth a whole lot but in the absence of anything else I suppose it’ll have to do.”

Thorin halts at that and it’s your turn to gather your courage and start a predatory prowl in his direction. For a moment you’re not sure if its fear or repulsion that flashes across his face.

Or..

Or was that excitement?

Was that heat reddening the sides of his neck?

He hadn’t moved away yet.

… _Why hadn’t he_?

Just your luck that you will probably never find out for at that moment his nephews spotted you and started screaming like little school girls, covering their dangly parts as if you were a creepy cross between a voyeur and an alligator. Their panic was contagious and before you knew it Thorin had escaped to the safety of numbers and you had no choice but to raise your hands in surrender, pointedly close your eyes and start on your long way back to your bedroll like a blind man with the teenager-like giggling and half-embarrassed, half-mocking chatter ringing in your ears.

***

Thanks to last night’s debacle, the next day started way too soon and also way too awkwardly. Fili and Kili, although the first to start screaming, simply laughed it off in the morning with only a little bit of a bashful blush and the others soon followed their example. No harm done then. Well, you still had to pinch something from Thorin –not the dwarf himself no matter how tempting– and you were feeling bummed out that you had no idea where to start.

Wallowing in your misery you barely touched your food once you had joined everyone and sat down to breakfast on the terrace. Either our host had used magic to clean it off empty bottles, confetti and squashed hors d’ouevres or they had house elves to do it for them. Elves enslaving elves.. Yeah, that’d be pretty sick.

If the sunrays pricking in your sleepy eyes was anything to go by it was promising to be a hot day now spring was itching to morph into summer. Just when you wondered whether that would make the dwarf king more or less likely to go for another dive in that fountain, your eyes wandered to the contents of his plate. Seeing the bread roll, grapes and strawberries all but abandoned by a strangely absentminded Thorin a sudden idea struck you. An idea that would force Nori to crank down the drill-sergeant act he was prone to get into lately when you failed to live up to his expectations with what you had stolen from the other dwarves so far. Well. Either that or he was still miffed that you nicked his pipe and then sold it on to his older brother in exchange for a cup of chamomile tea.

You glance over at your tutor who is gobbling down porridge and within seconds he catches on. After receiving the go ahead you set to work. Stealthily you pretend to be of a mind to refill your empty goblet and cross your other arm under it to snatch the bread roll of his plate. You’ve only just retreated both hands when Thorin stirs, gazes down at his diminished breakfast and lifts his head to stare at you instead.

With no other options you stuff the bread roll in your mouth and swivel the goblet in your hands as if you’re at a cocktail party. All you can do is squeeze your eyes in greeting to Thorin’s suspecting look, the fact that you must look like a hamster with both cheeks bulging with food not helping to prove your not so innocent innocence.  

For one blissful moment you convince yourself you got away with it or at least that he didn’t mind. You even think you can discern something close to fondness in those blue depths as Thorin leans forward and gestures to the jug of lemonade and the empty goblet in your hand, expression all friendly helpfulness.

Happily surprised you nod eagerly and hold out the goblet for him to fill, entertaining high hopes that you were – _finally_ – growing on him. You had to be, right? For the moody king to be this good a sport about involuntarily sharing his breakfast with you.

You realized how horribly wrong you were when the first drops of ice-cold lemonade tapped on the crown of your head and trickled further down your hair and face. Wearing a smile you could only describe as pure but contained and slightly evil joy Thorin empties the jug over you then gleefully puts it down accompanied by snickers and belly laughs.

Soaked through you shivered, but not just because that lemonade was _coooold_. And also not just because he’d fooled you. That smile was just something else.. The acorn smile. Yes. That’s what you’ll call it. Yeah.. That just now was totally acorn smile level…

***

A/N: Couldn't resist spending some more time in Rivendell ;p next chapter will be the last one there though 'cause these dwarves need to get a move on with that dragon slaying quest: focus, Thorin, focus!!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _Huge thank you to everyone who left kudos or bookmarked this silly story: makes my day!!! 333 And of course the usual digital bear hug to those leaving a comment, I'll be getting back to you personally the usual way asap! Also, sorry for the long wait! I'm thinking of making it up to you guys by posting my first and only Thorin/You smut I've ever written...Let me know if you think I should! ;) For now: hope you enjoy chapter 10!_

* * *

 

**Chapter 10**

Now that you had mastered the slingshot and could use it with semi-deadly effect –that grasshopper you dropped it on for the second time definitely had a limp afterwards– you felt once again boredom creeping into your brain. And boredom wasn’t good. It made you think too much. Mostly about the life you’d been ripped away from.

Oh, how you missed those days where it was just you, your pet cactus Bubbles and his favorite Mexican folksongs playlist on Spotify…

_Man, life was easy back then!_

And just look at you now. Brilliant career? Down the drain! Fantastic group of friends? Desolate without you! Perfectly romantic and never dull love life? Gone…. Poof! Like a crappy magic trick where the pigeon doesn’t come back.

_Hmm._

Can’t say for certain there ever really was a pigeon..

And you’re pretty sure ‘magic’ isn’t exactly the word you’d use to describe, you know, the nudge-nudge, wink-wink department. And swiping left had gotten pretty old pretty damn fast too. To be honest you weren’t sure how much longer Thorin fanvids on a loop would’ve helped dull those painful stabs in your lonely heart.

And that was a downright scandalous thing to think for a devoted fangirl like yourself! You just hoped there weren’t any other ones wandering around in Middle Earth ‘cause if there were, and they’d heard your outrageous thought, they’d call a tribunal and sentence you to life-long Thorin abstinence as punishment before you could say ‘Arkenstone’ and ‘don’t do it’ in one hurried sentence to your bearded idol as they dragged you away.

So never mind your love life. Never mind the shitty part-time job and the uninspiring lectures. Never mind the debts and your friends drifting away. Never mind the things you had still wanted to do. The things you had still wanted to say to people you actually cared about and who cared about you in return.

If only you had known this was going to happen. If you had known you’d be sucked into Tolkien’s fantasy world..

 _Damn_ …

All those things you could’ve gotten away with!

You could’ve actually done the crazy shit on your bucket list. No need to face the music afterwards. Nope. You could’ve robbed a bank. Set your old high school on fire. Actually posted that fluffy Thilbo story and include an overly sweet happy ending to the delight of your army of followers. Boldly kissed that one guy you had a year long crush on instead of merely nodding along with every Matthew Hussey video egging you on to do just that only for you to chicken out last minute (read: not go back with your jade citrus mint green tea you had successfully ordered without your tongue and brain messing up the order _and_ correct pronunciation when he’d spelled your name on the paper cup wrong… _again_ ). You could’ve actually tried the things you were too much of a coward to have tried even though you hadn’t known that _that_ life was going to end so soon.. Sadly, you weren’t even sure if that would’ve been motivation enough to pluck up the courage needed to-

 _Stop_.

You weren’t going down that road. Throwing self-pity parties was something the old you did. Not the _new_ you. The you in Middle- _Fucking_ -Earth. No. You were just going to do what any self-respecting therapist would always discourage you to do: come on in sweet old denial and make yourself comfortable ‘cause you’re here to stay!

Well. _That_ and turn into a human overhead-projector. You were going to project and take out all of your worries on others in a brilliant ‘the-harder-I-ignore-my-issues-the-sooner-they’ll-go-away’ move. That was probably why you slyly invented elf-bashing hour. And what a slamming success it was.

“..and they’re so… _shaven_.” you end your daily rant against the elves with your price winning ‘the fuck’s up with _that_?!’ look which you had perfected in the astonishingly short span of three days. There was a general murmur of agreement followed by many a mumbled ‘oh aye, oh aye..’ and a grumbled ‘true enough!’ from Gloín, Bofur as usual exclaiming boisterously over the others an overly blithe and triumphant: ‘faces like a babe’s buttocks!’.

You feel slightly sorry for Kíli who rather self-consciously rubbed his face as if to assure himself his stubble still covered it, setting him apart from the elves they insulted even though it was a far cry from his fellow dwarves’ bushy, braided and long beards. Still. Overall you felt reenergized by your successful attempt at the noble art of instigation. And the dwarves had been so quickly persuaded to join you too, you’d never felt so grateful for literally centuries of animosity between their race and your hosts. After all, it made your shameless propaganda campaign so much easier. As long as you weren’t overheard and you didn’t take this further it was the perfect way to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts. You had everything under control. Even these proud and stubborn dwarves wouldn’t be stupid enough to mount a full scale rebellion against those they relied on for food… _right_?

Speaking of which. The food alone might actually be a justified reason for an insurgence. All the salads and vegetables could be an appropriate feast for Radagast’s rabbits, but for thirteen dwarves and a human it was hardly sufficient. Nor nearly as much appreciated even if it meant we wouldn’t starve. It took all of our combined willpower not to resort to going through our own -infinitely tastier- provisions like vacuum cleaners would through dust, for that would inevitably mean we would run out way too soon once we got this crazy caravan thing going again.   

“Ugh..” you let out a dissatisfied sigh, picking bits of cabbage out of your teeth, “I don’t mind going vegan for a day or two but its been weeks since a decent meal. I could eat a damn orc!”

At your heartfelt exclamation the others snap their heads in your direction with looks of utter disgust, prompting you to add defensively, “I wouldn’t _really_ eat an orc, obviously. I mean those must taste beyond gross if their smell is anything to go by. But, you know, I’m hungry enough for meat that I’d metaphorically speaking would eat an orc..” Silence reigns on and you shift a little awkwardly on your poof.

“OK, never mind-”

“I would eat an orc.” Dwalin cut you short, and the almost confessional glint in his eyes told you he meant it. All heads, including yours, turned to look at him in one, simultaneous and slow-motion like movement as if everyone was watching a tennis match for the elderly.

Oh.

 _Oh_..

Did that mean orc was part of his usual diet? Wait. Did you really want to pursuit that line of inquiry? The dwarven warrior was scary enough as he was without the added image of him ripping off and chewing on orc heads as he had done with that grilled fish in the first movie.

“Me too.” piped up Bombur in a uncharacteristic squeaky voice as if he only dared admit to this now Dwalin had. Other dwarves were nodding, some putting their heads together for deliberation before mumbling a little embarrassedly in the affirmative.

“Um, yeah, that’s.. Um..” your voice trails off as you inadvertently picture an orc turning on a spit and when your stomach growls hungrily in response you quickly shake your head.

Wow. Two weeks with no meat and ale on the menu and these dudes were willing to eat the most not tasty looking creatures in the whole of middle earth (yes, you included Grima Wormtongue and Alfrid in that equation, and yes, you also had come to the conclusion which dwarf would be on top of the opposite list with the speed of light). _Damn_. If we stayed here another week these dwarves might take to cannibalism..

You pick up movement in the periphery of your vision and recognize Balin trudging back into HQ. He makes for an empty cushion on which he sinks down with a rather tired sigh. None of the others have noticed his return yet. Or that he had even left for that matter. Everyone -you included- had been too busy throwing proverbial mud at the elves. And he isn’t the only one that had slipped away unheeded.

Too late you recall the only half registered moment in which Thorin had gotten to his feet, thrown his councilor a meaningful gaze, and simply made to leave. Too caught up in criticizing Elrond’s diadem –so _girlish_ , pfuh!- you hadn’t thought much of it at the time but now, casting your eyes upwards to find a shiny silvery orb peeping out from behind wisps of clouds, it all suddenly made a lot of sense.

Shit! Had you been a total idiot and missed that glowy moon runes thing!?

Scanning the faces gathered around you it doesn’t take long for you to realize Thorin’s still missing. As the others finally stir and awaken from their disturbing food fantasies, they at once fire inquisitive and demanding questions at Balin while you jump to your feet and head in the direction he had come from.   

Pretending to make a beeline for some bushes to pee behind you instead hurry down the path concealed by it. Cursing under your breath whoever designed this place with leisurely and winding strolls in mind rather than including timesaving short cuts, you make your way to a landing of sorts and come to an abrupt standstill as you distinguish Thorin’s regal posture at the bottom of the flight of stairs to your right.

He is surrounded by shadows and fireflies as he watches -and most of all _listens_ \- intently and unseen while the tall figures of Gandalf and Elrond cross over an archway, their intense discussion making them oblivious to any eavesdroppers. Gossiping in open air. Tss! What were they thinking, you grumble grumpily to yourself as you tiptoe a little closer and lean over the balustrade to better hear what they were saying. Not that you didn’t have a hunch that made your stomach churn and tighten.   

“I deem it unwise to enter that mountain, Gandalf. The beast has slept soundly for over sixty years, why risk waking it up?”

The wizard increases his pace to keep up with the long strides of the elf at his side, one hand clenched into a fist, the other grasping his staff like a vine, “It is about time Erebor is retaken. For all we know the dragon has long since choked on its gluttony and greed.”

“Then he would not be the only one liable to such an end.” Elrond countered, tone tinged in wary bitterness, “Have you forgotten how Thrór lost his mind? How Thráin fell too? The line of Durin is cursed when it comes to the gold Smaug stole.”

“Yes. Yes. There is, admittedly, a risk.” Gandalf conceded reluctantly, but he immediately went on, voice growing louder and more impatient, “But doing nothing is taking the greater risk. Besides, my Lord Elrond, the dwarves of Ered Luin have a legitimate claim when it comes to the mountain. _He_ is heir to the throne. It _is_ his birthright.”

There was a heavy and tense silence and Elrond abruptly froze in his tracks. Gandalf halted too, it was clear even from this distance that he wanted to speak, offer more arguments in favor of the quest he had set in motion but he restrained himself and waited, just like you and Thorin did. At last Elrond turned to the wizard and spoke again.

“Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will be different? That he is not contaminated by the same madness that ran through his forebears’ veins?”  

You cringe at the elf’s words and can’t even imagine what must be going through the dwarf standing so strong yet incredibly vulnerable but a few paces ahead.

It was the wizard’s turn to pause before he said both determinedly and a tad willfully, “I’d rather take my chances with Thorin ruling the Lonely Mountain than cling to a foolish hope that a firedrake from the north will slumber for eternity; never do our enemy’s bidding.”

It wasn’t just Elrond that seemingly shuddered at that ominous statement. You could see Thorin stir slightly and a veritable shiver ran down your own spine while Gandalf trembled a little with his fervor and conviction.

“It is a gamble I am not sure other guardians of middle earth will approve of, Gandalf.” the elf eventually told him wisely and they started to move again.

“O-other guardians..?” Gandalf muttered with what you suspected was feigned puzzlement. Both he and Elrond disappeared around a corner and you knew the debate was going to be prolonged in the presence of Saruman and Galadriel, the outcome of that meeting likely to be unfavorable for you and the dwarves.

For a moment you were tempted to follow the two, maybe push Saruman ‘accidentally’ over the edge of that dizzyingly high cliff to save the Fellowship a lot of drama in the future but the sight of Thorin’s sagged shoulders and the way he lowered his head made you instantly change your mind.

Ever since arriving in middle earth you hadn’t fully realized that, in this world, all of that ‘a mighty people brought low’ and ‘I ate your people like a wolf among sheep’ stuff was _real_. Smaug was a living, fire-breathing, home-stealing, treasure-hoarding, overgrown and smelly lizard that had taken the dwarves’ home from them. And Thorin was the one to have carried perhaps the heaviest burden in having to lead his kin in the absence of his grandfather and father. Had had the immense responsibility of building a new life far away in the Blue Mountains..

Here, right in front of you, stood a dwarf that wasn’t just a character in your favorite book. He was _real_. He was made out of flesh and bone. He had fought for survival. Ate. Slept. Breathed. …. _Suffered_.    

It might all have happened almost two centuries ago, according to the book time-line in any case, but it must still hurt him. An open wound that hadn’t yet healed. Perhaps never would if you didn’t make it to the mountain and chase off that slithering worm with a firm and justified kick up his backside. Never mind you had no idea whether worms even had asses to kick, and if so where the hell they were located, you feel your heart starting to throb, to pump blood faster through your body as you feel overwhelmed by a desire to help Thorin win back the Lonely Mountain.

Realizing the colossal weight resting on the exiled dwarf king’s shoulders also came with an awareness of just how long he had been lugging it around. If your memory served you well than in a handful of years Thorin would be celebrating his two hundredth birthday…

 _Holy guacamole_..!  

Despite the weird timing for your thoughts to start to race, you fervently try to remember that conversion formula you’d googled on comparing dwarf ages with that of humans. Slowly but surely you did the math in your head. Then checking it two more times a little feverishly to make sure you got it right. The good news was that you were around Fili and Kili’s age and that would make you at least a grown up according to dwarf standards. Also, if your calculations weren’t too off, than Thorin was about twenty years older in human years. Hmm. That wasn’t too bad. Barely forbidden romance age gap numbers really. Your heart leaped on its own accord, inadvertently bringing you back to the present.  

Thorin still stood there rather forlorn but then suddenly straightened, lifted his chin and started to leave with a resolution in his step you couldn’t help but admire.

“Thorin, wait!” you called out, dashing down the stairs two, sometimes even three steps at a time.

For an instant he tensed up, almost coming to a halt but then quickly increased his pace as he replied strainedly without even looking over his shoulders at you, “Not now, Miss Ruby.”

“Please, just.. Just wait a sec would ya- _Umphf_!”

Not expecting him to actually obey your plea the second time you utter it, you bump face first into his back -nose flattened between his shoulder blades- as he suddenly stands as still as a statue.   

“Ahem, sorry, didn’t think I’d get here this fast.. Or that you would actually stop.” you mumble apologetically as you take a step back and rub your sore nose. You can hear Thorin take a deep steadying breath that fills you with a pity you know he would never accept even though it was incredibly close to tumbling over your lips in words of support, and he slowly turns around to face you. Not look at you. His sapphire eyes at first waver and cut back from left to right as if searching for hope before eventually flitting down rather ruefully.

“As you requested, I am waiting.” he said simply at your silence, his tone hollow.

“Yes, um.. So.. What I wanted to say.” you take a deep breath too, hands balled into fists in the inside of your hoody’s unipocket, “Don’t let what Elrond just said get to you. He doesn’t know you.” you more or less blurt out and swallow hard as Thorin looks up at you, blue eyes flashing briefly, then he asks in genuine fascination and incredulity, “But you do?”

“Um.. Well, I’m getting to know you. A little more every day.” you offer, managing but a small smile no more than a unconvincing tug at the corners of your mouth now he doesn’t avert his rather piercing gaze.

“Look, I know we’re pretty much polar opposites in a lot of things. Possibly in everything.” you plow on trying to somehow find the words you want to say, “But I also know that you’re one tough dwarf, and you will beat that gold sickness. You will.”

His brows furrow and you’re not sure if it is a sign of apprehension, doubt, or maybe even mockery.

“You have such faith in me?” his voice sounds strangely broken and the unmistakable hurt that tinges it cut you to the core without warning.

“Yes, Thorin. I _do_.” you answer him with a weird emotional wobble pushing up your own voice half way, making you compensate by emphasizing that last word with all the determination you truly feel. You don’t really understand the surge of anger that goes through you at seeing the dwarf opposite you continue to stare at you in something close to wonder, making you practically bite out reprovingly, “And so should you..”

Before he can say anything you brush passed him, stalking through a moon-lit Rivendell without really knowing where you’re going. With every step you take the key around your neck dangles with the rhythm against your collarbones. It’s as if its weight has increased significantly and it’s now heavy enough to effectively choke you or else bruise your chest at the intermittent impacts.

You reach up and clutch the key in your hand through the folds of your hoody to keep it in place now something like panic swelled inside you. This key was vital to the quest. It literally hinged on it. And it was in your possession even though you had no idea how it had come to you. What was more. You were keeping it from its rightful owner. From the descendant of the long line of Durin. from the heir to the throne. But all of that didn’t mean nearly as much to you as realizing you were keeping it from Thorin.

From _Thorin…_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the late update folks!! Hope you're still with me! I appreciate every single kudo/bookmark and comment: THANK YOU!! 333   


(p.s. As promised I'll be posting that Thorin/You smut right after posting this chapter: Enjoy~~)

 

**Chapter 11**

Dori had made you a dress. _His_ words. It looked as shapeless as Dobby’s smudgy pillowcase to you. Hell that could be called tailored compared to this atrocity. You were convinced it had somehow been sucked into a portal to an alternate universe, picked up the most repulsive flower pattern from whatever messed-up planet it had visited and returned to the silver-haired dwarf’s nimble hands where he had personally tortured it with a needle and thread to the point where it silently seemed to beg someone, _anyone_ , to end its miserable life.

Interpreting the gleam in your eyes not as you being sympathetic to the garment’s plight but as nothing short of murderous intent, Dori drew back a little, the dress draped over his arm like an oversized napkin swaying as if it was a limp, dead chicken. A _very_ dead chicken. A very dead chicken with frilly frills, way too much pink splashed all over it, and crochet hems that had been fashionable right about the same time cavemen switched from zebra to leopard print.

“Just try it on.” Dori urged you, “It’s not going to bite you, Miss Ruby, so there’s no need to glare at my creation like that.”

Pfff. Didn’t he know your glare didn’t brake for anyone? Besides, the dress might not bite you but you would definitely bite it if given the chance. _And doing it a favor too, people_!  

“Now we’re about to be on the road again I can’t bear to have you this scantily attired. The others might be too cowardly to tell you but it is bordering on unseemly, Miss Ruby. Why, your legs are clearly visible, hardly leaves anything to the imagination. It’s bad enough you’ve had to travel like this through the Wilderland, here in Rivendell I have finally found the time to remedy your… Your overly _revealing_ clothes.”

“Revealing?!” your brows shoot up in something close to indignation and you’re not sure if you want to snort or snap at the dwarf’s disproportionate choice of words.

“Dori, I’m more covered up than a mummified nun!” you exclaim at the top of your voice, waving an annoyed hand up and down your very glamorous (NOT!) outfit for emphasis and fixing the dwarf with a pointed look. You were already grumpy enough for having had to get up way before the sun because these dwarfs needed to sneak out Rivendell’s backdoor to avoid the council’s decision on the quest and now the silver haired hobby-tailor had thought it the right moment to remind you just how uncool you looked.

Dori shook his head in either pity or exasperation and placed one hand on his hip, ‘dress’ still dangling in the nook of his elbow while he jabbed a finger at you, “And I tell you that according to dwarf standards the shape of your figure is as clear as carved stone!”  

“I’m wearing torn, moss-stained, muddy jeans and a baggy hoody! Seriously, I’m about as sexy as a donkey with a sombrero!” you hiss back, growing equally impatient and miffed. For good measure you follow this up by demonstratively tugging at your hoody with such vigor you’d take to the sky any second if you weren’t careful. It was clear Dori wasn’t convinced in the slightest by all of it. He pursed his lips and held out the garment to you with such sudden vehemence it nearly hit you in the nose.

“No.” was all you said, arms crossed over your chest.

Dori’s eyes narrowed almost slyly and your gut instantly churned in trepidation, “I daresay that key of yours could use the extra layer too, Miss Ruby.”

That got your attention. Instantly.

Oh….. _shoot_!

So, as you had thought, Ori had indeed fessed up to his older brother about walking into you wearing nothing but your birthday suit and Thorin’s sizeable heirloom.

Whoops, that sounded almost dirty...

_Hehe_.

Dori tapping his heel quickly dragged you back to the plot. So did the rather audacious lifting of his chin, “Of course the king might still find out if a little bird happened to hop on his shoulder and whisper in his ears where to look for the stolen object that is merely indispensable in entering his long lost kingdom and the consequent reclaiming of his entire homeland.” 

He said it with an increasing expression of superior sneakiness while you cringed with practically every word. 

Great. As if you hadn’t started to feel guilty enough about that without this cute little snipe effectively rubbing it in even more.

_Hmmpf!_

Clearly this dwarf knew how to blackmail.

What to do.. What to do..

You eyed the flower-strewn monstrosity warily, resignation slowly but surely settling in the pit of your stomach like a week old pizza.

Yeah. Exactly. _Ugh_.

Weirdly enough the moment you had snatched the dress out of Dori’s hand and pulled it over your head you actually feel more exposed as opposed to more decently attired. Maybe it was the fact that this officially notched the number of dwarves knowing your secret up to five.

Sure. Five out of thirteen in total wasn’t abysmal exactly. But it wasn’t a stroke of genius on your part either that you’d managed to mess up that many times already. You really did have to play your part better or else risk a one-way trip back to the Shire. You weren’t even sure Bilbo would take you in...

A vision of being brusquely goodmorning-ed by every single hobbit in that hilly paradise you’d found yourself so suddenly in over a month ago now filled your head and you felt an invisible hand squeeze your heart like an overripe orange at the prospect.

Doing your utmost to ignore the queasy throbbing of that blasted organ you busy yourself with lacing up the dress. You’ve only just pulled out your hood from under it after considerable effort and accompanied by Dori’s scandalized scowl when the rest of the circus shows up, laden like bearded donkeys with their packs, bedrolls and weapons.

The effect  as they are introduced with Dori’s version of dwarvish haut couture, possibly for the first time in their enviably long lives, is instant.

Balin’s polite smile was definitely a little more constrained than usual in a possible attempt to keep in a chuckle and he elbowed Dwalin conspicuously in the ribs seeing his whiskers were twitching dangerously. The two princes clapped hands over their mouths, cheeks puffed up with air so they looked like a pair of hamsters that had just stuffed their faces with acorns. Seriously. If those two didn’t breathe soon their already bulging eyes would pop. Serve them right too, mind. _Scruffy clowns_!

Nori actually had the nerve to guffaw openly, pointing at you too, while Bofur thought it was funny to tip his hat and twirl around his axis as if admiring his own invisible dress fanning out while his cousin Bifur not even seemed to have noticed anything different about you and instead dreamily followed a butterfly flutter passed. The miner’s corpulent brother, on the other hand, eyed you semi-envious, glancing back at his round form then at you and back again as if imagining a similar garment on him and how it would slim him down. You doubted it would be able to pull off that considerable stunt. After all, it hadn’t exactly done wonders for your uninspiring proportions either.

Then there was Gloín who was too obsessed with peering in his money pouch every five seconds to count and recount his coins, not wanting to leave even a penny behind. So that left Ori and Oín as the only ones that listened to Dori’s profuse explanation of his original design –and it needed explanation all right!- though you noticed how the latter’s ear trumpet was suspiciously sticking out from his pocket and the partly if not wholly deaf dwarf wouldn’t catch a word. Ori of course had no choice but to fawn over your dress, filial duty alone prevented him from giving his true and honest opinion on what his brother-turned-mother-hen had had the stinking guts to produce.

Thorin strolled in last, chest all puffed up and shoulders squared and obviously having intended to make an entrance and stride passed in a self-important way to once again lead us all forward. Seeing you in a cocoon of pink flowers and frilly hems he stopped dead in his tracks. For a very awkward moment he simply stared, eyes glued to the psychedelic flora and a frown knitting his brows together so much you weren’t sure they’d come loose again.  

At long last he ripped his gaze away, cleared his throat very forcibly and pretended he hadn’t noticed your displeased and sulky look. Or the dress that had caused it for that matter. He was looking anywhere but at it. At least being in it you wouldn’t have to go through that trouble, you thought a little bitterly.

Pouting your lips more than a little petulantly you shouldered your backpack and fell into step with the others as the exiled dwarf king give the sign and all of you trooped out of the Valley of Imladris and made your way up a steep mountain path like a row of wobbling penguins.

Inwardly you felt slightly relieved Thorin hadn’t commented on your new look for it made the others almost automatically copy this behavior. It was embarrassing enough as it was and you could do without any smartass remarks, half-repressed snorts and jaunty glances.

There was none of that. Maybe the odd amused chortle behind your back but nothing more. Must be the realization that we were on the road again. That we had left the safety of Rivendell behind us and every step took us farther away from the protection of elves and wizards and closer to a humongous dragon that would be more than a little cranky once we woke him up..

Ever since yesterday evening, when you’d overhead Gandalf and Elrond talk of the insanity running through Thorin’s bloodline, and Thorin _knew_ you had overheard, you could barely look him in the eye. You had pretended to be fast asleep when at long last you had heard the king’s footsteps return to all of you late last night and he had already been gone on a final solitary wandering this morning when you had been woken up by Dori. Whenever your eyes inevitably did stray to rest on Thorin’s back a weird leaping sensation stirred in your chest, as if a frog was trapped behind your ribs and had tried to jump out only to smack against the unforgivingly hard bone and slide defeated back to nestle itself between your organs until the next desperate hop for freedom. 

That damn frog inside of you wanted to stop lying and help. Tell Thorin all you knew. Why was not doing that so damn hard all of a sudden? And why was the prospect of doing just that even harder??! The only positive effect of all of your gnawing guilt and worry was that your own dress drama became instantly less significant. What was more, you felt increasingly reduced in size somehow by the enormity of the quest before you. And there was still so much trouble ahead!

Over the next few days you wracked your brain to tackle the impossible task of thinking of a game plan that would prevent capture by goblins, spiders and elves; would get rid off a dragon preferably without any collateral damage (read: the entire population of Lake Town); and would stop a war from taking place. In short, no biggie. Piece of cake. Walk in the park… Never mind there were orcs, wargs, trolls, a dragon, bitchy elf kings and icky Alfrids crawling through the bushes of said park.

Despite the fact that travelling up and down those infernal misty mountains gave you ample thinking/plotting time no brilliant idea had as of yet formed in your head. Instead, the only result of your laborious track to reach the other side was that your backpack straps were cutting in your shoulders and that your blisters got blisters of their own.

You missed Bob. Your loyal, unpaid, hairy, four-legged car that never broke down but simply trudged on with you on his back and only asked for a sugar lump or two in return every now and then. You’d never appreciated how comfortable that saddle was, how soothing the rocking motion of the pony, how much easier it was to travel. And then you remembered why he wasn’t here, dragging you up these steep and zigzagging paths. Yes. You’d been sorely mistaken in his character. Rather gave you that feeling your exes tended to leave you with. _Damn the universe that made you a total sucker for disarming, warm, chocolatey brown eyes-_

A sudden, mental image of deep blue, sapphire eyes set under stern brows and framed by long, dark hair hijacked and contradicted the thought before you could finish it. For a moment you stood still on the steep path, puzzled by what seemed the appearance of yet another frog springing to life in your chest. Judging by the sensation going through you it must be performing a wide range of acrobatic feats with a strange sort of wild enthusiasm.

Halfway what you figured felt a lot like the frog doing a gravity defying somersault the darkened sky overhead lit up with lightening and a split second later a loud, terrifying rumbling kicked off a familiar storm.

_Shit_.

_We’d reached that part in the story already_?!

The rain, which had been present as a steady drizzle for the entire day already, now gushed down in thick droplets that the wind seemed to deliberately hurdle towards you and the small, huddled figures behind and in front of you. Because of the roaring and crashing thunder you could hardly hear anything of what the dwarfs shouted to each other. It didn’t really matter. Survival instinct had kicked in automatically and you didn’t need the occasional push in your back to run ahead in search of shelter. Soon out of breath you puffed and gulped for air but every time you opened your mouth it was like a firehose was aimed at your face. Spluttering and half drowning you blundered on and swallowed down the cold rain. Great. _Now you were bound to have to pee too_! _As if being pummeled by heavy rainfall and a biting wind lashing against you like a whip wasn’t uncomfortable enough_!

Even more buckets of icy water were being turned overhead and the rock underfoot had become more slippery than a snail’s armpit by now. Your sneakers were obviously not made for this kind of hiking. _Any_ kind of hiking really. The only advantage of the howling wind was that you could curse as loudly and to your heart’s content as you slithered, slipped and stumbled all the winding way up and no one was any the wiser. You were so focused on not losing sight of Bifur battling against the storm in front of you that you almost forgot the mountain you were climbing was partly stone giant.

Suddenly the path shuddered and you were smacked against the side of it, shoulder slamming hard against its unforgiving surface. You let out a yelp in pain then screamed your heart out as the world you desperately tried to anchor yourself in seemed to move. There was a hard push against your back and you tripped landing face down on rock with water gushing over it in streams as thick as rivers. But at least the solid surface underneath you did not move, did not have tremors run through it rattling your bones.

You looked back and squinted against the lashing rain. You could just discern pale faces peeping out from under dark hoods and mantles moving away on a giant’s ragged limb before coming closer again alarmingly fast. You screamed again though you could not hear it in the din of the storm, ducked your head and folded your arms protectively around it. There was a resounding crash and when you dared open your eyes again and look up you were surrounded by a bunch of seriously shaken dwarves, every single one of them wide-eyed and panting like mad.

You were hoisted to your feet by Fili and Kili while Bofur, Gloin and Thorin offered hand-ups to the three Ri brothers, Balin and Bombur who had managed to form an impromptu pile of entangled limbs and beards. Clearly not Circue de Soleil material. But you wisely kept that info to yourself. This had turned into a bad enough day for everyone already. _And it could potentially get even worse_..

Soon we were shepherded into the cave Fili and Kili had spotted and Dwalin had scrutinizingly sniffed around in before anyone else was allowed to enter. You hovered at the threshold and cast a suspicious look inside. Clearly not as wary as you were the collection of very bedraggled dwarves gratefully explored their shelter with a far less critical eye, their boots making soggy and squashy sounds while their drenched clothes dripped on the dusty floor leaving trails of watery prints and puddles.

“Thorin.” you call out to the dwarf king standing with firmly planted boots in the center of the cave to oversee the whole who-is-going-to-sleep-where-and-next-to-who business which always took these girls ridiculously long. Seriously. The average pajama party you’d been too had had less drama or sniggering at each other’s bunny slippers and hairpins.

“Thorin!” you tried again now your voice had obviously been drowned by the sound of the raging storm outside. Leaning against the entrance to the cave you felt your body go numb with the cold wind and rain blowing in from behind.

“Thorin!” you cupped your mouth now but it seemed to little effect, “Thorin! _Thorin_! Oi!!!”

Finally the dwarf snapped his head in your direction and frowned in confusion at seeing you loitering nervously on the threshold. You could tell he was annoyed that you proceeded to wave him over like a waiter but he  grudgingly stomped over nonetheless.

“We have to go.” you told him through teeth that had begun to chatter like mad.

Thorin looked completely nonplussed. Also not very impressed by what he must perceive as a very badly timed and irrational, ‘girly’ fear of dark, drafty mountain caves.

“Continue? In _this_ weather?” he asked incredulously, “It would be foolhardy to attempt it. You had better thank Mahal that we found shelter-”

“You don’t understand.” you cut him off, your voice raised to be heard over the wind, “We can’t stay here. It’ll be safer to take our changes outside.” you try to convince him, knowing that you’re not offering any convincing arguments. _But how can you do that without risking seriously derailing the plot_? _Why would he believe you_? _And how would you explain that you knew what was going to happen before it happened_?

Thorin stared at you, rain slashing against one half of both of you. The way his wet hair alternately was clawed at by the strong wind and then stuck to his temples while his piercing blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly at yours and raindrops clung to his brows and nose made for a pretty stunning look. If the situation hadn’t been so dire and you hadn’t felt this panicky you would’ve gladly stayed in this frozen moment a little longer to have it fixed on your retinas for later perusal.

Not understanding Thorin tilted his head and you could tell he was on the verge of shaking it and refuse to listen anymore to your admittedly insane suggestion but you don’t give him the chance to.

“Thorin. You’ve got to trust me. _Please_.” the tone of urgency has the dwarf in front of you refrain a moment longer from making a decision. Both of you still hover at the entrance of the cave, hunched over against the violence of the storm that seems of a mind to both push you in and drag you out with it.

And then the time for thinking was over. There was a dull sort of thud that was yet so deep and reverberating everyone heard it. _Felt_ it. Whirling around to face the cave’s interior you and Thorin could only watch powerlessly how not the floor, as you had expected, but the wall at the far end of the cave split open.

Acting on instinct you yank Thorin out of sight by his tunic, flattening the both of you against hard rock and peering cautiously around the jagged and gaping mouth of the cave. Just like in the book dozens of goblins crawled through the crack that had appeared, yipping and cracking whips as they swarmed inside. They easily overpowered the caught off guard dwarves, grabbing them by their arms, legs, collars, hoods and even beards and dragging them back with them, clearly intending to take your struggling and howling companions further and further into the very bowels of the mountain…  


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Whoopsy, time flies when you're having....RL crap to deal with! ;p Anyways, sorry for the delay in updating this, thanks for your comments and for hitting that kudo button or bookmarking; each of those notifications make my day! Also silliness, silliness, silliness, that's basically a summary of this chapter (story?!). Don't say I didn't warn you! ;D

* * *

 

**Disclaimer: Smaug did a Smaug and crashed through the front door without knocking and ate the rights to The Hobbit.... _How tragic!!_  
**

* * *

 

**Chapter 12**

You only just beat him to it when Thorin instantly makes to sprint after his kidnapped companions. OK. Maybe semi-kneeing him in the stomach wasn’t the most dwarf-friendly way to slow the king down. But it was vital he wouldn’t undergo the same fate as the others. And for that, timing was everything. Luckily Thorin doubling-up with a heartfelt _grmpfh!_ bought you the precious seconds you needed to make sure the last goblin had slipped between the crack with a last backward glance over his knobbly shoulders. _Now_!

Trying your best –and praying Thorin would follow your example- you dash into the cave with the weird mix of running at full speed and tiptoeing at the same time to make as little noise as possible. You must look like a dressage horse that should never have quit his daytime job. Still. Probably the least of your worries right now.

By some miracle you and Thorin manage to slip inside what little is left of the crack splitting the wall into two. With a deep and grinding sort of thud the hidden entrance reseals itself a hairbreadth behind you both.    

For a moment you simply stay where you are, pressing your back and heels against the pockmarked and uneven surface of the wall. The sounds of goblins and dwarves alike die away and the orange glow of torches equally grow fainter as the group moves away.

You turn your head in Thorin’s direction. Well. You can’t actually tell whether or not he’s there. It’s too damn dark to know for certain and your eyes sure are taking their sweet time to adjust. With your surroundings this pitch-black, how the hell were you going to mount a rescue-

_…..Hmmm_.

Pitch-black you say?

“Come on, we need to hurry or risk losing-” Thorin abruptly stopped himself short, “Ruby?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you touching my face?”

_Um_ ….

“You know. Just checking if you’ve still got everything. That wall closed a millimeter behind us.” you explain with an air as if even the dumbest kid in class would see the logic in this.

“Indeed.” Thorin replied, sounding highly doubtful.

“Eyes.. Ears.. Mouth..” you sum up out loud as your fingers boldly go where you hope no fangirl has gone before, “nose!”

Your last happy exclamation prompts Thorin to finally intervene. His fingers close themselves around your wrist, your index finger freezing mid-tap of the tip of his nose.

“I think I’m still in possession all of my facial  features.” he assured you in a deadpan voice. It really was too bad you couldn’t see the accompanying stoic expression on his face though you thought you could just distinguish his eyes glinting like embers in your direction.

 “Yes, I agree. But good thing I checked. Right?”

Another blank ‘Indeed’ followed by the sound of shuffling feet carefully exploring the slanted ground below.

“Woh, woh, wait!” you whisper hurriedly.

“Why?”

“Your turn.”

A strained silence lingers for a moment until Thorin probably realizes you can’t actually see his questioning frown, “What?”

“Um, I might have lost my nose..” you mumble semi self-consciously. You had wanted to go for ass obviously but build up, people, build up. These were different times, different customs. Respect that.

“This way.” Thorin instructs you rather gruffly and pulls you along behind him without another word.

Ah well. It was worth a shot. Next time. Next time. There was always a next time…

_Ahem_.

You listening universe?

_Because if you are you better make sure there’ll be a next time if you know what’s good for ya_!

Anyhow.

Now was not the time to rant at the stars for always placing you in these rotten so-close-but-yet-so-damnably-far-away situations. You had over a dozen dwarfs to find and rescue: not exactly and easy task when every step you took you half expected to walk into solid rock. Luckily Thorin was slightly ahead of you and as long as you couldn’t hear him slamming into some kind of obstruction there was little for you to worry about except for trying not to trip over stones jutting out of the very badly carved path, scrape your shoulders against the wall on either side of you or bump your head against the low ceiling.

Too soon for your liking there were faint echoes of cries and shouts that grew louder and louder and it wasn’t long before the end of the tunnel-like path you followed had flickering light cast on it from around the corner.

You instinctively slammed on the brake and crouched down, terrified of going any closer. No need to frown at that. Never said you were a hero.

Thorin, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reflex. He had sprinted forward like a prowling panther about to surprise his unsuspecting prey. But he was also still holding on to you. As the inevitable result of several unbreakable laws of physics the dwarf got yanked back and swiveled around. It was nothing short of a miracle he hadn’t dislocated his shoulder with a loud _pop_ in the process.

“Ruby? What is it?” Thorin inquired in an urgent whisper and you could feel him getting down on one knee beside you, “Are you hurt?”

There is genuine worry as well as a hint of frustration in his tone.

You adamantly shake your head then quickly added a hurried ‘no’ in a small voice. You were thankful the scarce light prevented him from seeing the guilty look on your face. Nothing short of cowardice had you practically roll up like a ball in an attempt to make yourself as small as possible. You were instantly ashamed that apparently your first reaction was to hide instead of fight.

You could feel Thorin’s piercing gaze on you and you cast your eyes down even though you can barely distinguish your hands rubbing your thighs nervously.

There was a sudden increase in excited yipping and outraged shouts. Judging by the clanking sounds of metal on stone it’s likely the few axes and maces some of the dwarves had actually managed to snatch in the chaos had now been taken and thrown on a big heap.    

Thorin stirred, clearly impatient to act. And yet he hadn’t risen to his feet. You could practically hear his thoughts grind as he surveyed you. As the truth sank in.

“Stay here.” he eventually said, his hand briefly squeezing your shoulder. The understanding clear in his tone cut you to the core. It was embarrassing and heartwarming at the same time that he didn’t seem to judge you for cowering in the dark like a frightened little mouse.

_You judged yourself though_ …

And the preliminary verdict wasn’t one you were sure you were willing to live with any longer.

“Thorin.” you grab his tunic in an almost desperate sort of way. Poised to lunge forward he exerts an admirable amount of self-control to stay where he is a moment longer, one hand on the pommel of Orcrist the other ready to push himself off the floor.

Silence. Even the noises up ahead seemed drowned. Perhaps this was the first time you truly felt grateful towards the dwarf king. For not rushing you to speak your mind even in a sticky situation like this. For allowing you those precious seconds you needed to make your decision.  

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Again a brief silence. The soft scraping of a boot and his shoulder bumping into yours as he leaned closer.

“Ruby.” his earnest voice was a low, deep rumble, “There is no dishonor in remaining behind-”

As much as you appreciated the pep-talk you didn’t let Thorin finish but instead unbent your knees and brushed passed him, groping around in your hoody’s uni-pocket for your catapult. It felt like nothing more than a twig in your trembling hand right now. You could hear Thorin close on your heels. His sure and steady footfall bolstered your courage a little. It was still barely enough to keep you going. 

When you were about to round the corner Thorin caught up to you and somehow managed to squeeze himself in front of you. Weapons raised the two of you burst into a den-like room packed with goblins who were in the middle of waving torches, spears and clubs at their captives.   

In the following moment a lot of things happened at the same time and in such quick succession you weren’t sure what was happening exactly. For one you only caught a mere glimpse of the dwarves huddled together like a colony of penguins before a small, lump of a boulder blocked the way forward. Thorin expertly jumped over it as if obstacle run was something he did on a lazy day. You, however, felt your toes bump into it and you flailed your arms wildly about to keep your balance. Predictably you failed and was lunged forward with far greater speed than you’d initially had. The boulder came loose with the force of your fall and because of the momentum tumbled along with you down a side passage. The path was so steep there was no stopping yourself and you rolled on despite your loud ‘umphfs!’, ‘ouchs!’ and ‘urghs!’. The fact you couldn’t see the world rapidly turning upside down and back didn’t mean you didn’t _feel_ it.

Bruised and dizzy you finally smack down hard and come to an abrupt standstill. So does the boulder. Raising yourself on your hands and knees it hits you hard against your butt and emits a disgruntled groan and you end up face down again on the cold, slippery floor.

Wait.

_Slippery_?

It couldn’t be the rain. No way the storm could reach this deep into the mountain.

Also...

_Groaning_ boulder?!

Before your brain can connect the dots a terrific _bang_ shudders the very earth underneath you. Next instant there is a flash of pale and yet bright light that dimly lights up the passage you just involuntarily tumbled down like a very disheveled Alice. Then the sound of what appears to be a thousand feet rushes towards you like a swelling and threatening wave of oncoming danger.

Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!

You scramble to your feet in a mad panic. Well. _Try_ to scramble to your feet would be a more accurate description. That boulder that had somehow magically groaned had now sprouted limbs. You only had time to utter a confounded ‘What the- ’ when you felt long, gnarly fingers close around your ankles like vines.

For the third time in a row you fall flat on your belly. All the air is forced out of your lungs at the impact. Gasping and thrashing about to free yourself from the tiny, balloon shaped goblin that’s trying to keep you down the volume of approaching mayhem grows louder at an alarmingly fast rate. You could even hear some of the dwarves calling out your name as they went. No matter how touched you were by their loyalty, you also kinda hated the little buggers for leading an entire army of very pissed off goblins your way when you were having more than enough trouble with just the one. _Thank you very fucking much_!

Gandalf appeared on the scene first, followed by thirteen very harassed and jumpy looking dwarves. They skidded to a halt and cast wild looks around in search of you now the path had leveled and the passage opened up in a broader, cavernous space. Not that you had realized this before now. Only because of the bright light on Gandalf’s staff did you actually see your surroundings.  

“Here- Hmpf! I’m here! Bwah!” you frantically called out to the dwarves, still wrestling with the soccer ball sized creature who just then pressed your face none too gently in what felt like mud.

Oh oh. Slippery _and_ muddy. You didn’t like the possible implications of that. After all, there was only one place you could think of in this stinking maze of tunnels that would have both elements.

A handful of dwarves were on the verge of rushing over and come to your aid when their pursuers jumped at them out from the shadowy passage. Amidst all the battle cries, whip cracking and weapon clashing you knew there was no point in yelling for help. You would only waste energy that way. Energy that you needed to channel that inner ninja and throw off your cunning –but mostly just persisting- adversary.

“Waaaaaaah!” with absolutely no idea what you were doing you let out an enraged shout as you push yourself off the ground, grasped the goblin by his scrawny elbow, swung it once in a circle above your head like a weird, misshaped lasso and let go. The goblin squealed in a tiny, shrill voice as it soared through the air, hit the ground and continued by rolling towards the others. Next instant he had bowled over at least five fellow goblins who grumpily rubbed their sore bottoms, backs, and heads as they slowly got to their feet afterwards. The same couldn’t be said for the tiny goblin you had hurdled towards your enemy.

Clearly as disorientated as a drunk, one-eyed hedgehog, the round goblin tottered in all possible directions without really seeming to know or being able to determine in which direction it went. In all the tumult of the epic battle –undignified scuffle more like!- the undergrown creature threatened to be trampled by either dwarf or goblin. 

As you watched it stumble along while it was being pushed and kicked out of the way your fear momentarily took a back seat and you made up your mind. 

You don’t really know what made you do it. Let alone why you did it. But seeing that was hardly out of character for you, you just did it anyway.

You sprint forward like a football player, duck your head and hide it in your crossed arms, then ram into first one, no, _two_ utterly bewildered goblins. Bewilderment was good. A more effective weapon than your half-ass tackles would ever be. Zigzagging through fighting dwarves and goblins you cover the remaining distance between you and the tiny creature. You scoop him up in your arms, cradling it to your chest as you try not to inhale its stench and then dash the whole way back again.

Puffing like a steam engine from the exertion you sink down on your knees and put down the goblin who blinks up at you, his overlong arms hanging limply on either side of his body that you only now realize is tilted because one leg is considerably shorter than the other. He staggers back a bit with a weird limp the inevitable result of his out of whack body proportions and simply continues to stare at you.

At that moment there is a loud crash and Gandalf’s roaring voice bouncing off the bare walls makes it clear he just used a spell.

_About damn time too_.

You swivel your head around to see what had happened. To your great relief the wizard’s powerful explosion has caused the place where the passage opened up into the more spacious underground cave to collapse. And collapse on top of most of the goblins too. You could see Dwalin, Fili and Bofur making short work of the few that had survived the deadly rain of debris and then there was complete, oppressive silence and the wavering light shining forth from the stone on Gandalf’s staff. Apparently with this last stunt he had possibly overdone it.

Muttering rather feverishly under his breath, the wizard swatted at the stone, banging the tip of his staff forcefully at the ground too, causing all of us to be intermittently plunged into total darkness whenever the source of light had sparks shooting out of it, spluttered in feeble protest then flickered out of existence.

_Amateur._

In one such moment of complete blackness, you heard a sharp hissing followed by what sounded a lot like hands paddling almost soundlessly through water...

_Crap, crap, crappy the crap!!!_

There was a dull thud of wood on stone as the wizard’s staff hit the ground once more and white, bright light filled the cave, reflecting most notably off of two huge orbs that could’ve been car lights but obviously weren’t. If only you’d be so lucky.

“W-What was that?” Dori stammered.

“Did you see that?” Fili asked needlessly to the group at large, every single one of us was looking nervously at the lake spreading out far beyond the shore we were grouped on.

“Is it a goblin?” Bofur offered.

“Could be a rat.” Dwalin huffed out unconcernedly. He didn’t fool you. He was so shitting his pants right now.

“A swimming rat?” Gloin repeated incredulously.

“It’s a squid!” Kili piped up excitedly.

You face-palm yourself in growing exasperation and despair. This was taking too long. We were potentially gonna be in so much trouble. Gollum might keep his distance now, observing us from the water and paddling up and down across the shoreline like he was auditioning for Baywatch-

_Smeagol in a red speedo_.

No.

Just no.

Not gonna go there.

In any case, even though Gollum was advancing only slowly and cautiously because of our sheer numbers alone, once he figured out what a bunch of chickens these guys were that would make him change tactics in a flash.

“No. That is no goblin.” Gandalf pondered out loud. He didn’t sound scared. More like intrigued. Not good. Not good at all.

“Gandalf.”

In nothing did the wizard show he had heard you.

“I wonder what creature has managed to survive down here.”

“Gandalf.”

No reaction.

“It must be able to catch fish. Slugs. Bats. The occasional goblin even..”

After this last suggestion you felt the tiny goblin, who had escaped everyone else’s notice and was hiding right behind you, shiver violently from head to toe. 

“Gandalf, I don’t think-”

“Either way. It has found a way in.

Clearly he was intentionally ignoring you.

“Gandalf. I _really_ -”

“And perhaps remembers the way out.”

“Gan-”

“Now that would be very useful information.”

“Gandalf.”

“We should attempt to establish contact.”

“Gandalf.”

“You go and greet him.” the wizard nudged his chin in Kili’s direction whose face instantly split in an unnaturally broad grin.

“Gandalf-”

This time you were overridden by Thorin. Made for a nice change. Sort of.

“You really think this wise?”

Thorin eyed his youngest nephew, brows furrowed in concern. Kili’s lower lip startled to tremble the way a toddler’s would after being denied a new toy.

“Wise?” Gandalf repeated, almost in mockery because he either didn’t know what the word meant or else that he found it grossly overrated.

“Considering our current predicament I would say that trying to find ourselves a guide that could lead us out of these mountains, to the _right_ side too, would be a very wise thing to do indeed.”

He did love to hear himself talk, didn’t he? Still sounded like a pretty dodgy plan to you. Besides you were uncomfortably close to changing a little too much about the future of Middle Earth. With Bilbo not here, you were pretty sure it was crucial none of these jokers found a certain bling. 

Most of the dwarves seemed convinced by Gandalf. Even Thorin nodded eventually, albeit a little reluctantly.

“Well. Go on. Off you go!” the smug wizard urged Kili who set off like an energizer bunny with its fluffy tail on fire.

Yes. Brilliant. Let’s talk to it. _Them_. You were sure a 500 year old systemic liar and friend-throttling sleemo with a personality disorder could be reasoned with. Might even point out some nice restaurants too with a bit of luck.

You huffed in annoyance and impatience, crossing your arms in front of your chest. You weren’t the only one that was feeling uneasy about this. Dwalin practically scowled, hand grasped tightly around his double-headed axe, while Balin looked apprehensive and Thorin appeared less than pleased too.  The second in line to inheriting the throne, on the other hand, practically skipped towards Gollum who’d just slid smoothly on land with his canoe thingy.

Kili quickly glanced back over his shoulder at Gandalf who gave him the thumbs up and, quite frankly, looked over the moon with this opportunity to get himself a rare entry in his pokedex.

For a moment an awkward silence reigned supreme until Kili bowed a little clumsily then held out his hand.

“Hello there- AAAAAAARGH!!!” Kili yowled like a lone wolf, clutching his finger as if it was a wounded chick that had fallen out of the nest, “He bit me!”

_Well that went wrong fast_.

“Told you he wouldn’t make for a good pet.” you remark wisely to no one in particular. Of course you hadn’t in fact mentioned this out loud, but that was only because Gandalf had chosen to ignore you.

_Oh_. _How he must regret that now_.

As if to proof how right you were Gollum hissed dangerously, bared his jagged teeth and his bulging eyes glinted maliciously.

That finally convinced Gandalf too.

“Run!”

“What he said!” you weigh in for good measure and pelt forward.

None of you make it far. The wistful light of Gandalf’s staff extinguished without warning. Chaos ensued. Some dwarves were screaming like little girls; there was a lot of splashing and thrashing as Gollum no doubt had leapt out of his ‘boat’; and literally everyone bumped into everyone else at least once. You could swear you collided up to four times with Bombur, but maybe that was just because he took up so much space. Long and short of it was that your toes were trod on numerous times, you’d received several elbows in the ribs and, to add insult to injury, you practically flattened your nose for life against Dwalin’s broad and concrete-hard back.

“Perfect! Just perfect!!” you exclaim slightly crazed, voice an octave higher than usual. Fear had been replaced by pure and burning annoyance.

“If it’s all the same to you, then let’s leave the real magic up to me from now on, shall we?!” you must sound deranged enough for all the dwarves to fall silent and even Gollum doesn’t dare so much as a snarl. You whip out you phone from your back pocket and hit the torchlight.

It worked.

Despite the miserable 6 percent battery power, it _worked_.

To you it really felt like you’d just performed magic.

The vast, high-ceilinged underground cave lit up spectacularly, you could see the ripples shimmering on the deep lake and wet stone glistened like it was coated in crystals.

There were admiring ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ all around, you almost felt like you’d just plugged in the Christmas tree.

The light also revealed just how close Gollum was to you. Or you to him. Same thing really.

You let out an earsplitting yell and stumble backwards, phone threatening to escape out of your grip. You fumble to catch it, miss each time, and it splashes with a strangely beautiful arch in the lake.

“Out of my way!!” you roughly push Gollum to the side, barely noticing his agonized wailing nor even suspecting the reason for it.

You dive down like you’re trying to reach home-base and end up belly down on a flat rock that juts out a bit over the edge of the water. Bending forward as much as you can you peer down and spot the illuminated rectangular sinking rapidly. In horror you stare transfixed at the pale screen set to its  Your Royal Nakedness wallpaper and as it grows smaller so does your hope of retrieving it. It was worse than Leonardo Di Caprio going popsicle. No offence. But seriously. A _lot_ worse.

What was more, with your phone disappearing into the depths of the lake, so did the light it had produced. Just before all of it was swallowed up by the dark water your eyes were drawn to a sliver of a warmer hue.

Something shiny.

Something round.

Something enticing.

Something oddly _familiar_ …

The dwarves had decided they’d had enough and busied themselves with locating each other and linking hands, counting each member found and added as they went. Judging by the angry but also frustrated hissing Gollum hadn’t been able to get passed them. 

That gave you a split second to decide.

No time at all really.

But you decided.

With a due sense of trepidation you thrust your arm up to your elbow in the ice cold water and close your fingers around something solid and surprisingly heavy.

_Oh boy._

_You’d really done it now_ …

* * *

 

A/N: Thanks for reading!! 333 I'd love to get your thoughts on this!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks for the kudos and comments!! :D Enjoy~**

* * *

 

**Chapter 13**

Having lost all sense of direction at birth, you simply hobble along, hand tightly clutched in Balin’s, the other checking again and again whether a small, round object didn’t fall out of your pocket.

Bringing up the rear wasn’t exactly your idea of fun in a dark, drafty, filthy maze of goblin-made tunnels, but technically you weren’t the last one in the chain.

The moment you had all polonaised the hell away from that underground lake, Dwalin fortunately having the brains to knock Gollum out cold with a well placed if not extremely lucky kick, the little goblin had crawled up your leg, climbed your backpack like it was Mount Everest, and settled itself on top of it, long arms wrapped around your neck.

But it wasn’t clinging on to you in an attempt to choke you from behind. Instead, you suspected it was half intending to hitch a ride and half intending to show you the way. Apparently it could see a lot better in the dark. And it was obviously more familiar with all of these crisscrossing, winding paths too. Soon you realized that with every yip or squeal it gave it was trying to give you a hint, _not_ betray your location to fellow goblins. It wasn’t hard to guess which meant left or right as the creature also very helpfully leaned in the intended direction as it let out the screechy sounds.

You relayed the directions in staccato, monosyllabic shouts though it took your companions, in particular Gandalf who was at the lead, a while to catch on. Unable to see where you got your information from it nevertheless turned out that following your drill-sergeantesque instructions provided a goblin-free, up-sloping route while ignoring them got all of you stuck at dead ends and in the way of the occasional scout who the dwarves only just in time hacked to pieces before it could alert others.    

Your trust in the little guy piggy-back riding along eventually paid off. All of you burst into a guard room that was teeming with activity. Activity that stilled completely the moment you arrived. What must be a hundred or more armed-to-the-teeth goblin warriors turned to face us as one.

Timing.

_Why did it always come down to timing_?

Could have been an early Monday morning with more than half the warriors ignoring alarm clocks or snoozing in denial of the weekend having come to an end. Instead it was more like a Friday afternoon on which everyone was so high on caffeine to make up for sleeping in at the beginning of the week that you were surprised these goblins weren’t bouncing off the walls.   

Either way. Despite the bad timing you should’ve either chosen a different exit or wasted less time down at the lake. Totally blamed Gandalf for the latter. He just _had_ to go all Janeway on us: ‘Captain! Captain! We’ve discovered an alien life form that has superior brainpower, ten arms, more teeth than twelve sharks combined, _and_ has a black belt at karate…Do we shoot it?’ ‘Negative. Open up a channel. He clearly just wants to talk.’ ‘Uh.. Say again, Captain?’ ‘You heard me.’ ‘…Opening up a chan- Aaaaargh!!’ _CHOMP!_ _CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP!_

Meanwhile, back at the plot, the massive shape of the goblin king bore down on all of you, cleaving through the sea of goblins like a battle cruiser through ice.

“Whatever you do, just don’t sing on us, yeah??” you shout over the heads of the dwarves gathered in front of you, some of whom glance over their shoulders frowning and looking utterly non-plussed.

“He knows what I’m talking about.” you assured them confidently, “I swear, if any of you clowns even think of turning this into a musical I’ll show you just how much down down down goblin town _really_ is-”

“Who are you??!” the goblin king demanded, towering over all of you and his staff pointing down at you so the goat’s skull on top is inches from poking your eyes out.

“Um.. Not the droids you’re looking for?” you shrug innocently but apparently this mother of all blobs was part Toydarian instead of Hutt. _You should seriously stop judging a book by its cover!_

“ _You_ came looking for _me_ , human!” the humongous crown-wearing fat stain spat accusingly, giving you a rough prod with his staff, the skull effectively knocking the air out of your lungs.

It all went downhill from there pretty damn fast. Thorin stepped out of the group to confront the huge goblin, suggesting it should pick a fight with someone his own size. A pretty ludicrous idea except if you took egos into account. In that case Thorin wouldn’t even have to break a sweat.

Doubled over with your hands on your knees while you gulped for oxygen, you hardly caught what the goblin king said in return. Something to do with balls. You failed to see why they didn’t realize now wasn’t exactly the time to talk sports. Luckily the other dwarves shared a few more brain cells between them. They let out cries of outrage and shook angry fists at the goblin king. Kili simply kicked him against the shins then lifted his chin so high it was almost vertical as he let out a superior ‘hmpf!’.

“Get them!! Rip them apart! Kill them all!” the goblin king shrieked in fury, clutching one leg closer to himself in order to nurse it and hopping rather precariously on the other. 

All hell broke loose. You were pushed around by dwarves as well as goblins, the former in an attempt to protect you, the latter to separate you from your companions and lop your head off. Lovely. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Dropping to your knees, squeezing your eyes tight shut and covering your ears with your hands you’re halfway to your happy place when you feel the goblin on your back stir. Next moment it raps its knuckles on your head. You ignore it and repress a yelp. It repeats the process. And again. Clearly it was trying to get your attention.

“Ouch!”

Clearly it wasn’t going to give up by you ignoring it either.

“ _What_??” you hiss through gritted teeth and sulkily rub the crown of your head.

The little goblin slid into view, hanging deftly around your neck like a spider monkey. Looking meaningfully at you he subsequently pointed first at himself then at the goblin king who was dueling both Gandalf and Thorin at the same time. When he tucked his knees into his bulbous body you finally understood.

“You’re volunteering to be a bowling ball? _Again_?” you check, brows arching in disbelief.

The little goblin nods fervently, jabs a long crooked finger at the massive door just behind the even bulkier goblin king and finishes by making a weird turning motion with its balled fist in mid-air. It takes you a few seconds longer to realize it’s mimicking opening a lock with an invisible key. The visible version of which you spot dangling from a frayed belt that only just held an even smudgier loincloth in place.

“You sure about this?”

Again an overly enthusiastic nod.

“All righty.” you stretch your legs, wring your hands in preparation and squint your eyes to calculate the right trajectory, “Up and away, then, buddy!”

Rolled up like an ugly, fleshy, warty ball, the tiny goblin soared through the air as graceful as a ballet dancer, the six greasy hairs that still clung to his bald skull streaking behind him.

In his landing he spectacularly bowled over a handful of other goblins and tumbled along a little bit further until it passed right under the goblin king. It snatched something, bumped right into the wall where it lay all crumpled, a rusty key clutched tight in his tiny fist.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed. The goblin king was distracted for a split second. A split second too long. Gandalf rushed forward to poke the king in the eye with his staff and Thorin slashed his large belly before the wizard finished it with a fell swipe of Glamdring across the jugular.

The ground underfoot shook as the dead body of the goblin king toppled over like a broken tank. All of his hunchbacked, lump-riddled subjects were instantly in an uproar. This also meant that their attack-mode conveniently switched to panic-mode.

Taking advantage of the confusion you sprint alongside the dwarves for the only way out of this mess. The tiny goblin throws you the key, you catch it and ram it in the lock, turn it, then leave Bofur and Bifur to push it wide open.

You cast a final glance over your shoulder, at the goblins milling about like ants that forgot the way back to the colony, wailing and shrieking. On the verge of whipping back around to actually see where you’re running your heart skips a beat as you spot Gollum, skulking and peering around the opening of the passage leading back down to his lake. Even from this distance the hatred and agony in his eyes freezes your blood, but it mingles with such a heart wrenching despair that you wonder if this was what had caused Bilbo to pity the unhappy creature. You would never truly know. The hobbit wasn’t here. Moreover, topping any hint of sympathy a healthy dose of self-preservation instinct quickly took over the wheel again.

We all spill outside, one by one, not breaking our stride and hurtling down the steep slope of the mountainside. Your eyes hurt as daylight floods your vision for the first time in hours, possible a day or longer. You only slow down when you notice how light the weight on your shoulders has become. And that didn’t have anything to do with the reinvigorating sense of our regained freedom.

_Bowling ball goblin!_

You skid to a halt and swivel around. _There_! It’s got one foot on the threshold, the other just over it. The parallel with how you’d hesitated in a similar fashion was almost ironic. Although the situation was reversed of course. You hadn’t wanted to go in. The tiny goblin wasn’t sure if it had the guts to leave.

But he’d helped us. Had repaid its debt to you. Which in turn meant it couldn’t possibly stay with its kin. The other goblins would kill him for sure.

Knowing you can’t afford to wait much longer you hold out a hand, fingers sprawled wide in what you hope it’ll recognize as an encouraging gesture. It got the hint. With a determined look screwing up its ugly face it wobbled in your direction as fast as his uneven legs could carry him. You hurriedly hoist it up and it perches Yoda style on your shoulders as you sprint on.

In the mad rush down the pine-tree and rubble covered mountainside no one notices the stowaway. Even when we finally stop to catch our breaths in a small clearing not a single dwarf spots the little goblin.

Fili, being after all the crown prince, claimed the task of doing a head count –much to his younger brother’s disappointment- and ended up counting and recounting always with one too many. You’re this close to clear up the mystery but the dumbfounded look on his face and Kili counting with him under his breath is just too damn funny to watch. None of the others intervene either, mostly because they’re too occupied to clutch at stitches in their sides, pick out leaves and grit in their beards and retie loose bootlaces. It was all a little too B-team for your taste to be honest.

“Don’t move!!!” Dwalin suddenly barked, making everyone nearly jump out of their skin. Then they all looked at you in horror.

“Wha- _Oh sweet Jesus!!_ ” you raise your hands in surrender, eyes wide and rooted to the spot as the burly warrior raises his axe and comes right at you.

The tiny goblin gives a frightened squeal but then slides down your arm and stands between you and the oncoming killing machine, fists waving in an impeccable Frankendoodle imitation. You weren’t sure though if it would be enough to stop the mustached T-Rex heading your way.

“Wait!!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, sidestepping the goblin jumping up and down at your feet like a kangaroo readying himself for a bar fight.

Wait!! Just wait!!” you tried again but to little avail, Dwalin had obviously gone into red-zone. _Typical_.

“He’s on our side you nitwitted hooligan!!!”

That stopped him. Just in time too.

“B-but.. But..” Dori stammered in repulsion, “It’s hideous!”

“Easily fixed.” you tell him, demonstratively crouching down to press your hand down into the mud before you transfer it to the creature’s pockmarked face.

_Hmm_.

Not exactly the effect you were going for.

_And make-overs always looked so easy on TV!_

“Um…” you drawl, eyeing the goblin as it blinks back at you. It looked like an ugly, dirty volleyball. A slightly cross-eyed, possibly traumatized, ugly, dirty volleyball with a hand print across its face-

_Oh no you didn’t!!_

Throwing both arms into the air in supreme victory you jump to your feet in exulted excitement. 

“Wilson!!!”

You felt like Dr. Frankenstein looking down at his puke-inducing creation. Wilson just beamed back. Dwalin ruined the moment. _Again_.

He was halfway a deadly swing of his axe when you fixed him with your best death glare to date.

“If you dare hurt my Willy I’ll personally chop yours off!!” you bellowed, eyes popping madly.

No man ever failed to shudder at that particular threat. Dwalin wasn’t an exception. The dwarves and Gandalf all adopted a personal variation of a deeply felt ‘yikes!’ expression but there was no time for further introductions when an ear-grating howling rents the air.

“Yes! Frying pan! We know!!” you yell in Thorin’s direction as you hurdle passed him, not of a mind to wait for the dwarf king and wizard to finish each other’s proverbs. _Yegh_. The only thing worse was retired couples wearing the same outfits on a hike.

Wilson also hadn’t needed more of an incentive to give in to his flight reflex. He had already climbed back onto you and sat atop your backpack, fearful eyes trained on the wolves that came racing down the mountainside towards all of you. 

Our enemy already gaining on us our way forward was limited to the edge of a dazzlingly deep ravine.

Right.

That was it then.

_Why had you even bothered hoping this part wasn’t going to happen exactly like it had in the book and the movie?_

_Why hadn’t you put your foreknowledge to good use and thought of a plan to tackle all of these obstacles?_

_You’d had weeks in Rivendell, for crying out loud!_

_Weeks?!!_

“Climb into the trees! Hurry! Climb!” Gandalf ordered. The fact even he sounded panicky only made you feel more scared.

Grazing your palms against the rough bark you nevertheless manage to clamber your way up to a thick branch. After an approving nod of Thorin in his nephews’ direction –they had done most of the work and hoisted you into the tree with them- Fili and Kili perched on either side of you. A moment longer you just sat there like three weird birds on a row but then the wolves came crashing into the trees that harbored you and your companions.

Bark and pine-needles were flying everywhere. The trees creaked and swayed with the violent impacts of wolves slamming against them. Knowing what’s in store you mentally prepare yourself to hop from one tree to the next when with a resounding _snap_ your tree succumbs to the barrage of attacks. The tree you land in is also soon felled; one by one all of them topple like domino stones. You, Wilson, the dwarves and Gandalf all end up in that tall pine tree just at the edge of the ravine. 

Again. A plan would’ve been nice.

There is something missing though.

Some _one_.

You crane your neck, eyes shooting wildly from left to right.

_Where in the blazes was that damn orc??!_

The tree creaks as it slants backward, its roots bare and snapping one by one. There is a collective gasp followed by frantic ‘aaaaaahs!’ that could’ve made it seem you were enjoying a thrilling roller-coaster ride were it not for the accompanying prayers and curses.

… _OK_.

That still made it sound like you were enjoying a thrilling roller-coaster ride. But you weren’t. Just to be clear on that. Every single one of you was screaming like a little girl at the prospect of falling to your deaths. And falling a looooong way by the looks of it too.

You feverishly locate Gandalf two branches above you but he’s screaming along as hard as everyone else. You better give him a hint. Time was seriously running out.

“Oh! If only we had fire, the one thing wolves fear above all else!” you exclaim theatrically.

Gandalf froze, his mouth still agape but no longer with any sound coming out. It almost looked comical. It could be an exact replica of that weird scream painting. Then the lightbulb went on and he snatched a nearby pinecone to ignite it with his staff.

Genius, Gandazzle, genius.

_How does he think of it?_

You inwardly roll your eyes as the dwarves whoop, cheer and pat the wizard on the back for ‘his’ quick thinking.

Soon burning pine-cones rain down on the wolves until the dry grass catches fire and a protective wall of flame keeps the enraged beasts trapped on the other side.

Well.

_Protective_.

That would very much depend on your definition of the word.

In any case, there was no way you were going to wait for Azog to show up. If he didn’t want a spot in the end credits. Fine. _His_ loss.

_The question was  would you dare risk gambling on the fact Gandalf would remember to call in air support or had you better give him another obvious hint?_

At that moment a screech mingled with the howling and snarling of wolves and the cheering dwarves.

_Woosh! Woosh! Woosh!_

Great wings whipped up powerful, currents of hot air, sparks were flying around like snowflakes but then upwards as if someone had turned off gravity. Flames licked higher but not at us or the trees we perched in. The wolves’ furs caught fire, causing them to yelp and flee. Huge shadows zoomed passed overhead, talons the size of a full-grown human scooped up the remaining wolves and threw them over the edge.

Well.

You know the scene.

Very different to be in it. Not watch it. It was nothing short of a nightmare.

One by one the dwarves were picked up by the eagles. Shakily you rose, arms wrapped around the thick bark of the pine tree. Almost all the roots had snapped. It was going to fall any second now.

You look up as an airbus with feathers flies over, the tip of its wing brushing against your head. Suddenly you weren’t quite sure you wanted to travel that way.

Yeah. That fire didn’t look that-

_Awww!!!_

_Hot hot hot hot!_

You pull up your foot again so it’s out of reach of the hungry flames that had started to devour the pine tree by now.

“You must let go!” Thorin bellowed at you from the other side of the bark. It looked like he wouldn’t do so himself before you had. You two were the last ones remaining. Well, you _three_ , technically. The goblin on your back wiggled nervously but you patted it once on its balding head. Released the tree from your chokehold on it. Took a deep, steadying breath…

_And jumped_.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks a bunch for the kudos and comments my lovelies! Please enjoy~**

* * *

 

**Chapter 14**

The whole eagle flight was exclusively an audio experience. You’d squeezed your eyes tight shut the moment you’d landed on the big bird’s back. OK. Maybe you closed your eyes even before that. From the moment you had taken the biggest leap of faith of your entire life. It had taken far more courage than entering Bag End after you’d found yourself in the Shire. It even beat the whole Goblin tunnels ordeal. Heights scared you like nothing else. And yet, you’d jumped into nothingness because a dwarf king you’d followed on his quest countless of times had told you to do it.

You’d plummeted down into the gaping ravine for at least ten seconds that felt more like ten minutes with blood pounding in your ears, air pressing in on you from all sides so you couldn’t breathe and wind ripping at your hair and clothes.

Now you simply clutched the eagle’s feathers without much consideration for its feelings and held on to them for dear life. You could feel your fingers going numb while your nose was plagued by an incessant itch as you buried your face deeper into the downy mass.

The wind whistling in your ears drowned out a lot of the sounds around you but there was no mistaking who the jubilant cheers and whooping belonged to. The two princes were overjoyed with your current mode of transport and kept shouting loudly whatever it was that they had spotted as if the tiny specks many miles below could actually hear them. You could. And so could the dwarves and wizard though everyone seemed too occupied to hang on to their respective taxis to hush them into silence. Although Fili and Kili’s excitement was a lot better to listen to than how they called out to their uncle filled with worry in the movie, you hardly felt up to sharing in it.

Not daring to open your eyes and look down you felt like a complete wimp just lying there sprawled on the eagle’s back while it sailed effortlessly through the air, wingtips angling with every soaring turn and wind rushing through its feathers at a dazzling speed.      

Just when you began to wonder when, or even if, you’d ever get your feet back on solid ground you feel yourself rise and fall with the sudden increased beating of the eagle’s wings. Next instant the impact of the landing has you desperately tighten your grasp. The eagle, clearly not amused, literally shakes you off and lets out an ear grating screech when you end up ripping out a few of his feathers in the process. You try to return them and press them clumsily to its folded wing but they predictably are grabbed by a gust of wind and tumble almost mockingly right in front of its stern eyes fixing you with a deadly stare.

Meanwhile Wilson had clambered down from you, tottered towards the ledge and proceeded to puke out what you fear might be half his organs. Also, if a little pebble thrown form the top of a skyscraper could potentially kill someone.. _Hmm_. You stand next to Wilson and peer over the edge to watch the splattered mass race down in revolting saltos. Disgusting. Understandable. But disgusting. Also, fear of heights. When would you learn that standing this close to the edge might not be the best idea?

When you swallowed down a surge of knee-wobbling fear and turned to the little goblin he was throwing you a particularly nasty look.

“ _What_?” you exclaim indignantly. Wilson’s eyes narrow accusingly. He was still looking a little peaky. “Don’t blame me, blame the damn turkey!” you defend yourself, pointing at the eagle, then realize your finger is a little too close to its beak and hastily clutch it to your chest.

Apparently ruffled enough (Get it?? Get it??) said turkey sets off on the very short runway and takes to the air again, bowling you over with a little too much sass to pass for accidental collision. 

You trip backwards and are hanging from the precipice by the tip of your fingers before you can say quidditch. Wilson, with all the speed he could muster, hobbles over and tries to frantically hoist you up. But that wasn’t exactly going to happen now was it? _You_ had bigger biceps for fuck’s sake. Luckily back-up arrives in the form of Fili and Kili. They reach out to grab you by your wrists but in their eagerness, and rivalry, to help you they almost tumble over the ledge themselves. The fact that they were still high on the eagle joyride just now didn’t help much in this regard either. They were giggling at their own potentially lethal mistake for crying out loud. _Giggling_.

Most of the dwarves had caught on about your current predicament by now and mere seconds later Thorin himself hauls his nephews back by their hoods before lifting you up practically with one arm.

Wow.. That was.. _Impressive_. You sway a little on your feet, staring dreamily and unashamedly at your savior.

“I thought we’d lost our burglar.”

And there goes your swooning moment.

“At least _try_ to sound less disappointed Dwalin.” you snap back. Seriously. What was wrong with this dwarf?? 

“It’s your business risking your own life, but I would appreciate it if you would stop risking that of the rest of the company.” Thorin growled out, pulling you even further away from the precipice.

“I didn’t.” you bit back. Thorin raises not one but both of his brows so high they almost collide with his hairline. He flicks his only two heirs, who are still trying to untangle their limbs, an exasperated and meaningful look, then turns back to you with a superior ‘you were saying?’ expression. 

“I didn’t ask you to help me. If you don’t want the others risking their lives to save mine you shouldn’t give them the wrong example to follow.”

And down went the brows, they furrowed in a rightfully humbled frown, “I couldn’t let you fall-”

“Why not?” you ask challengingly. Maybe it was the exhaustion that made you this prickly but you weren’t going to be cast for the a-burden-to-everyone role without putting up a fight. 

“You’re part of the company.” Thorin simply stated, sounding almost taken aback that this may not have been as self-evident for you as it clearly was to him.

“Am I?” you retorted, tone testy.

Thorin set his jaw, a sure sign he was losing his patience. “You’re not a dwarf. You don’t understand how these things work.”

“Yeah, I guess I really don’t.” you reply grumpily.

It is then that Gandalf decides to cut yours and the dwarf king’s silent staring match short. Probably for the best too. You really sucked at those. Your eyes already felt as dry as your grandma’s pancakes and you were this close to blinking when the wizard intervened.

“We are all accounted for, at least. After such recent trials that is worth something. Now. Let us not tarry here. With a bit of luck and speed we might make it down the Carrock before dark.”

You did _not_ make it down the Carrock before dark. Of course you didn’t. Do you know how long those stairs are? _Very_ long. We’re talking up and down Cirith Ungol _and_ all seven levels of Minas Tirith here. Easily.

And so your little band of dwarves set up camp about halfway down the roughly hewn and huge steps once the sky turned a deep purple and it was too dangerous to continue. You just crossed your fingers that it wouldn’t be equally dangerous to stay here and hoped Beorn, who you remembered from somewhere in the book had actually made the Carrock, wouldn’t creep up on us in his bear pajamas in the dead of night.

As your companions busied themselves with making a fire, a bit of a challenge seeing we lost most of our baggage, you slide down the rocky wall, knees pulled up to your chest and your head resting in your hands.  

There are two heavy thumps, as of boots coming to a standstill in front of you. Not sure you want to verify this theory you nevertheless take a peek through your fingers and instantly recognize who those particular boots belonged to.  

Thorin clears his throat a little awkwardly. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmpf.” you mumble back indistinctly, closing your fingers over your face again.

“Good.” Thorin remarked even though you had said no such thing.

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some peppermint.

“You were wrong you know.” he started. Not the line you would’ve gone for when trying to make up. At least you had assumed that was what he had come to do. After this little snide you weren’t so sure anymore. You let your hands drop to your lap, the fierce look you threw Thorin prompting him to go on.

“The moment you signed- _we_ signed that contract, you became a part of the company. That binds me to you more than you know. It’s why I couldn’t let you fall to your death. You’re my responsibility. All of you are.”

That had sounded pretty noble actually. And yet your mood grew a little fouler as you chewed over some of the wording he’d used. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. … _What did you want to hear_? A painful stab went through your chest and you balled your fists in frustration at the silliness of that stupid heart of yours.

“Thank you for saving my life, but don’t bother next time, I’d rather not be saved if it’s because you’re contractually obliged to and not because you actually care..” you shot to your feet and were about to storm off, not that you could go that far in any direction, when Thorin stopped you.

“Miss Ruby.” his voice was the strange mix of rolling thunder and glass about to break, “I.. I do.. But it is not the dwarvish way to.. To..”

He fell silent, like his vocal cords had actually shut down. It was pretty adorable to witness really. Mainly frustrating though. Especially when another moment passed and then another and he still didn’t finish what he had started to say.

“Thorin?”

He looked up at you, eyes unfathomably deep and for one split second you thought you knew what he was going to say. Something in your expression must have given you away because he changed course as fast as the Titanic should have done.

“How did you know about those Goblins?”

_Ah_. Just because you had almost forgotten about that little detail didn’t mean he had. He was bound to ask. He had a _right_ to ask probably.

“I was about to ask the same question.” the wizard’s voice drifted over. He had ambled up to us, lighting his pipe and talking around it in that annoyingly mysterious way.

“How did you sneak in after us?” you immediately parried with a question of your own.

“A wizard tends to arrive precisely when he needs to.” came the old dude’s clever reply. He let out a puff of smoke for effect afterwards.

“Right..” you mutter back, not holding back on the skepticism.

Thorin took a step towards you, not in an intimidating sort of way but almost confidentially, “You tried to warn me. Somehow you knew that cave wasn’t safe. Didn’t you?”

You remained silent and just stared back into his searching eyes, not doubting he could already read the confirmation of what he had asked in yours.

“ _How_?” he sounded confused and awed at the same time. If only you had an answer to give. Truth was you didn’t. And it actually hurt not being able to answer. It _hurt_.

“How did you know about the goblin attack mere moments before it happened?” Gandalf pressed you in a tone that suggested _you_ were the senile one.

“You know, I’m not inclined to answer that at present.” you said coolly, trying hard to ignore the disappointment gathering in those deep blue puddles still fixed on you.

“ _How did you know_?” the wizard tried again. Bless him.

“Still not answering that.”

“Do you perhaps possess the gift of foresight?”

“Not answering that either.”

“A goblin spy then?”

“Sorry, mesa speako no English.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake Miss Ruby, you must tell us!” Gandalf insisted, pipe all but forgotten in his irritation with you.

“No. I _don’t_. Just.. Just stop. OK. I can’t tell you.” which was at least partly true. After all, how did you tell two people- OK, one _wizard_ and one _dwarf_ , that they technically weren’t real when they stood before you all flesh and blood and bones. … _Damn these fictional fools for tempting you to go all meta_!

“Ruby..” Thorin implored her one last time. It was nearly impossible to refuse him. But you had no choice. You took a determined step back, away from both of them.

“Don’t make me use gravity to stop you from asking me this.” you warned them, taking another step back even though you had no idea how far from the edge you were.

“ _Please_.” your eyes are locked with Thorin as you say this, knees once more wobbling so bad it almost felt like you were dancing. Just because the sky was now so dark you could barely distinguish between the step and the ground way down below didn’t mean you weren’t very close to peeing your pants. Your _only_ pants.

Thorin held your gaze for a tense moment longer as if desperate to glean at list a snippet of truth from you but eventually he resignedly tilted his head sideways in that regal way of his, “Very well.”

Gandalf was still looking rather expectantly but soon enough realized he wouldn’t be getting any answers tonight when the dwarf king withdrew, brows set in a pensive line and not looking back at you as he went. Grumblingly darkly the wizard nibbled his pipe and retreated too. 

And then the whole scene changed and it was raining rabbits. Literally. Rabbits. _Dead_ rabbits. Gandalf had ordered take out apparently. You didn’t even want to now what on earth- Um, _middle_ earth he had done to have those eagles serve him as delivery birds.

They swooped over your group as nothing more than dark, giant shadows, dropping a dozen or more rabbits and hitting more than one of us squarely on the head. Still. Free food. No one was going to complain.

As the scent of roasted rabbits wafted towards you the tenseness in your chest finally relents and in turn it is your stomach that starts to grumble loudly. You squeeze your way between the princes and feel any remaining uneasiness slowly but surely ebb away as all of you tuck in like starving wargs.

* * *

**A/N: Dang, I've only just realized that with this chapter we've reached the end of AUJ...0_0 Awesome! Onto DOS, muhahaha~**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey there, my lovelies! Thank you so much for the kudos/comments, they really make writing this so much more fun! ;D Enjoy~**

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 15**

You liked marathons. _Movie_ marathons. You were an absolute natural at those. The running type on the other hand… Yeah. Different story. Man.. If only you could be _in_ a different story right now! One that would preferably not skimp on transportation costs or place misguided trust in self-serving and traitorous ponies. You had never quite realized just how much adrenaline-pumped-fear for your very life DIDN’T give you superhuman speed.  

Sputtering, puffing and hyperventilating like a skunk who’d just farted against the wind you simply will the burning muscles in your legs to keep going, clutching at as many stitches in your side as possible with both of your hands and cursing the fact that apparently stiches can have stiches of their own judging by the painful stabs practically skewering your lungs.

Thank Mahal’s balls you weren’t the only one struggling to keep up with the panicky horde that were your fellow travelers; Thorin, of all dwarves, was ridiculously slow too. He was running by your side, axe at the ready and throwing worried glances over his shoulder as you fled. You didn’t need to see the ginormous bear to know just how crazy and dangerous it was, the earth shaking impact of its massive paws and the blood-curdling roars it produced were indication enough.

The forest thinned and finally, _finally_ , the last slender beech trees flash passed and you’re tearing across open fields now, you could even see the wall-sized hedgerows straight ahead. With the safe haven in sight the little goblin climbs from your shoulders to your head and cranes his neck, beady eyes gauging the distance and finding your position still furthest away from it far from reassuring.

“Don’t even think about it, wart-ball!” you warn him, instantly interpreting the goblin’s calculating gaze as it flicks from you to Thorin and back a couple of times. Clearly the little bugger is weighing his chances of survival and probably coming to the conclusion that the dwarf king might prove the better bet.    

He lifts his chin as if in hurt indignation for you even suggesting he would’ve made the jump –he _totally_ would’ve made the jump- and then quickly decides to root you on instead of abandoning ship when another ear-grating roar splits the air, sounding a lot closer this time too. His out of tune cheerleading chants do wonders….for the dwarves. It spurs them on to go even faster when for you, if anything the shrill screeches almost make you turn around and throw yourself into the monstrous animal’s gaping, sharp-fanged mouth just to escape the contagiously catchy tune. You’re half surprised Beorn the bear-man doesn’t hit the brake to stampede on in the opposite direction.  

But it’s only a few more yards to go now.. Almost there.. _Almost_ … You pelt through the gate, nothing more than an arch pruned out of the looming hedgerows, and through a large garden that was tamed and wild at the same time. There are small trees laden with fruit scattered around and the high grass is an explosion of colors what with the myriad of flowers peeping their petal-haloed heads out at us through it.

You’re a little too much in a hurry to not get shred to pieces by the furry beekeeper at the moment though to truly enjoy the perfumed air and buzzing insects, and you swat at a flock of butterflies as you hurl yourself through their midst, papery wings flapping against your blinking eyes. You swear you had just swallowed one whole when the dwarves managed to open the heavy wooden door and barge inside. You and Thorin follow suit, the latter swiveling around instantly to help bolt the door again behind us while you trip over the threshold upon hurricane-speed entry and slide on like a curling stone. It had been cool in a comical kind of way when Gandalf had done it, squeaking his way over Saruman’s polished marble, in this context though, and with you doing the sliding, it wasn’t remotely cool or funny. One side of your face is smeared with dirt, straw and flattened droppings when you push yourself to your feet after the horrendous ordeal is finally over and you had come to a standstill right at Dwalin’s feet. If boots could look unimpressed, his definitely did.

“Thank you for creating a clear path, miss Ruby!” Kili had the nerve to snicker at his own clever joke as the door shuddered behind him with a handful of successive impacts by Winnie the Pooh’s evil twin brother. Why that little...c _heeky baboon!_

“Watch it, gnomey, or I’ll be very tempted to clean the rest of the floor with you… _and when I’m done your pretty face will look a lot like some other part of your body.._ ” you add in a dark undertone.

After this remark Dwalin -and his boots too- looks down at you in approval and hoists you up by your collar as a reward while the young archer guffawed shiftily and then gallantly let the others go first in their exploration of their new abode, pushing Fili in front of him like a human shield just to be on the safe side.

It doesn’t take all of you long to subsequently locate and ransack the kitchen. Food, you decided, was more important than making good on that threat. And so you happily plunder and pillage alongside the dwarves-turned-pirates, humming and whistling a happy _yo ho_ , _yo ho_ as you chomp your way through chunks of honey, thick slices of buttered rye bread, and raisin-strewn scones, finishing off with a bucket of yoghurt and granola. Gandalf observes the mayhem with a look of superior disapproval, lecturing all of you on the subtle difference between good-mannered guests and rampaging Oliphaunts, even threatening that a repetition of Rivendell won’t be tolerated (no sir!), voice rumbling like far-away thunder. Too bad no one hears him above all the crunching and munching.

In the end the dwarves and you get all cozy and snug in the stables, making nest-like beds in the piles of hay and elbowing uprooted pigs and chickens out of the way to make room. You’ve fallen asleep long before Gandalf stops brooding and joins your group for some well-deserved R&R. The last you see before you close your eyes and drift off is the wizard slyly checking the snoring shapes of the dwarves, then searching in vain with roving eyes for any food that’s left and ending up squashing crumbs under his fingerpad and bringing it to his mouth in rapid succession with a lot of grumpy grumbling and mumbling.   

***

Beorn was creepy. And tall. Tall and creepy. And hairy. And strong enough to snap you in two with a flick of one of his bushy sideburns. Also, he wasn’t a very happy dodo right now. Going the same way as the bird too considering the fact he was the only one left of his species. Of course the state of his raided kitchen might have had something to do with his bad mood too.

Everyone except Gandalf made sure to stay well out of his way, leaving the wizard to talk our way out of all the mess everyone else but him had made. He and the giant of a man were sitting cross-legged on the veranda and the cool shadows it offered, talking for hours about war brewing, about the cruelty of our mutual enemy, and the fate of Middle Earth now their threat was growing again and might even rob this small paradise of the peace and all the life it harbored. In this light, the death of the goblin king might have been the only reason Beorn refrained from ripping our heads from our torsos for arriving unannounced and remaining even when we were clearly unwanted. Wilson, strangely enough, didn’t seem fearful of our host at all. Maybe Beorn didn’t perceive him as a proper enough goblin to gobble him down in one go, or maybe he just needed glasses. Either way, the little tyke got on really well with all of the bear-man’s animals and that seemed more than enough to make the burly skin-changer tolerate him.

Most of the dwarves remained inside the wooden house, with their heads sticking out of the glassless windows and seeking refuge there as if it was a fortress that they could barricade again against their formidable and temperamental host should he suddenly turn against us. The weather made it too warm and stuffy indoors though and so a few, like you yourself, had taken to wandering through the garden, all the while keeping an eye out for any sign of Beorn transforming and the majority of dwarves were sticking suspiciously close to a cluster of pear trees in the hopes of finding their tops out of reach of claws and snapping jaws as those pines had done with the wolves. 

Not that you had had a lot of time, if indeed the necessary attention span, to remain as watchful as the others. Worrying about your host wasn’t what kept you busy the entire day. Wilson did. Apparently his life-changing course of action and newly found freedom momentarily turned him into the equivalent of a Red Bull addicted toddler. He was dragging you from the honey-dripping beehives to the paddock with the beautiful ponies, and from the fish pond to the pig’s very own mud pool and back for another twenty laps of the same round.

The wizard was still talking to Beorn in low tones when color but not warmth drained from the sky. Thinking it best to leave it to him to persuade the man to help us on our quest, you would settle for being allowed to leave with all your limbs attached in all honesty, you and the dwarves are just about to call it a day and head inside to join the others when the by now familiar sounds of hooves clattering and excited whooping reach your ears. 

“W- Wilson! Get off that goat this instance! Yes, I  know he’s cute, but you already rode him a good long while earlier, remember? And let’s leave that bumblebee alone, okay? Wil- Wilson! Those stripes do _not_ come off. Didn’t the first time, won’t the second. And I really don’t think Mr. Goose wants to play right now!”

_Thirteen dwarves and not one of them qualified as a super nanny, useless bunch!_

A good while later you finally kick off your sneakers and sink into the huge rocking chair near the fireplace, Wilson at last tucked neatly under his blanket, plump chicken on one side, a big fat rat that against all plausibility had pretended to be a cute little mouse on the other, all three emitting a variety of adorable snoozing sounds.

“Oof! I’m dead on my feet thanks to that hyper-muppet, should never have given him so many sugar lumps..”

“How about a massage?”

You blink at Thorin, he’s leaning over the fire, one elbow resting on the mantelpiece and an unlit pipe in his hands. His eyes aren’t staring pensively into the wreathing flames anymore though.

“What?” you stammer like a bumbling fool, sure you hadn’t heard right. Either that or Christmas had come real early this year. Or you had read too much Thorin/reader smut. Possibly both.

“How about a massage?” he repeated, slipping the pipe in his pocket and walking towards you, “You deserve it after today. After all of this..”

“Um.. I do? Wait. Yes. I do. Absolutely.”

Thorin juts his chin to one side in noble acknowledgement then, once he’s close enough, suddenly transfers his gaze to a point over your shoulder.

“Dwalin. A task for you I think.”

The bald warrior grunts affirmatively, crunching his knuckles as he appears from behind you, that gesture alone making you flinch.

The terrified look on your face soon has their serious and stern facades crack, eliciting laughter all around. You jump to your feet but before you can snap and snap hard at each chuckling individual Thorin places both of his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to sit down again.

“You’re as ignitable as flint, Miss Ruby, but fear not, I wouldn’t wish Dwalin’s massages on my worst enemy.”

You’re about to treat the dwarf king to an affronted snort despite the pacifying and comradery quality to his voice but then he crouches down and lifts your legs to rest on his knee, hands deftly starting to knead your tired feet and the insanely pleasant sensation robs you of the cognitive ability to speak. Of air to breathe. Of your free will. Of the possession of your erratically beating heart. Of- Well. You get the picture. One hell of a massage.

You slumped in your chair, all relaxed and tense at the same time. Tingles were chasing each other along your spine, your neck, your arms, your legs and right back to your feet where they spiked then started their round over your whole body all over again.

“How were the gardens?” Thorin asked, apparently he didn’t realize what he was doing to you and just how impossible it was to act and behave normal right now. Let alone listen and answer coherently.

“Green.” you rush out, breath hitching and voice stolen again as another series of tingles start their exhilarating journey.

 He pauses his movement, thumbs buried in the balls of your feet as  he arches a brow at you.

“There was some purple and yellow too.” you add strainedly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel, “Never seen so many flowers in my life.”

“And what flowerless part of Middle Earth are you from exactly?” Thorin questioned you further, despite his far from hostile or mistrusting tone apprehension instantly pools in your stomach, the acidity of it dissolving those tingles that had lingered at once.

With the fire gleaming in his eyes, setting azure alight with the flicker of dancing flames, it was so very tempting to tell him. Right now. This very moment. Confess to the whole crazy story of being sucked into a story. _This_ story. But you just can’t. _He would never believe you_..

The truth of that hits you harder than you had hoped it would. You swallow hard, tearing your gaze away from his. Nothing in your life had ever felt crappier than the immense distance between you and the dwarf when he sat so close and was so far out of reach. When his hands still reverently held your feet. When your heels rested on his knee. His presence so very tangible and yet..

You couldn’t lie to him. It was better not to tell him anything than to make up a story about you growing up in Rohan. Or Gondor. Or some other, random human settlement. To recount how your family had perished at the hands of orcs or had been felled by some contagious illness or crop-destroying plague so you had been an orphaned thief for most of your life in order to survive. That running into the dwarves, _his_ dwarves, him, running into _him_ , had given you a purpose in your life that you had felt was missing but had never been able to find. You wanted him to know how grateful you were for that. You wanted to tell him so much.. But it would be a lie. Most of it anyway. And it was scary to admit how some of it was actually also true.    

“Ruby?”

“There’s a beautiful oaktree, near the beehives. Wilson climbed it all the way to the top. Took me an hour to get him down again, he was too scared once he got there.” you rattle on, self-conscious of your obvious attempt to evade answering his question. Thorin doesn’t at first look away from you, you can _feel_ the disappointment gathering in his eyes, yours flit up just in time to see them cast down.

“It.. It reminds me of home..” you finished, quickly pushing back the memories of sunny days in the park, you had felt so different sitting against that gnarled old oaktree afterwards..

Thorin’s eyes shot up again to meet yours but you didn’t know whether they were filled with gratitude for that confession, that tiny bit of information as much as he understood it to be the hardly sufficient concession that it was and that no more was coming, or if it was that same disappointment but perhaps slightly retreating. 

_Why did it matter where you were from? Couldn’t he just trust you?! Like you, despite the whole world-swap business, trusted him._

There was a creak of wood and grinding of hinges as the tall figure of Gandalf walked in, bolting the door behind him but not before you could just glimpse the shadowy outline of a huge bear prowling away into the coming evening.

Thorin got to his feet, yours sliding gently off his knee and unto the warmed but hard floor, the other dwarves turning their heads towards the wizard too who was  all smugness and triumph.

“He will help us.”  


End file.
